"Metamorphosis"
is the prequel to this story, though you don't have to read it in order
to understand "Ever After".

Spoilers for the entirety of
"Shoujo Kakumei Utena", more or less. None for "Adolescence of Utena".
If you don't know the anime, I strongly advise you to read a fairly
detailed summary of at least the eps leading up to this story, namely
eps 1 - 10 (preferrably more). I also advise you to get your hands on
copies of the entire series as soon as you possibly can, because it's
wonderful.

Ever After

1. ~
Friendship ~

Anthy. Himemiya Anthy.

He'd never quite understood his
fascination, his helplessness in the face of her strange, shy beauty
and the sense of undefinable depth lurking behind her opaque green
gaze. There was something... Part of it was that she was the Rose
Bride, of course. This was, in fact, the only reason he had taken
notice of her in the first place. Hers was not the kind of beauty to be
noticed casually. It could not be taken in with just a glance; an
indifferent eye swept over the readily available masses would glide by
without seeing it.

There was something even more compelling
beyond the beauty you saw so easily once you had learned to look...
something you couldn't see, but only feel as a subtle thrum deep behind
your eyes, in your chest, in your sex. A resonance sounding in your
bones and flesh and blood, as though the presence of Himemiya Anthy
struck a chord in the very essence of you.

It made him shiver,
made his throat contract when she was near... every particle of his
being bursting with an emotion too vast to encompass, neither love nor
lust nor terror nor rage nor anything he'd felt for anyone else, ever.

He
didn't see her as he walked through the halls of Ohtori Academy with
measured steps and his head held high, his most haughty, distant
expression frozen in place. It was impossible not to see the wide-eyed
stares all around him. Even though he refused to look, he could feel
the gazes branding his skin. He couldn't close his ears to the silence
that fell where he walked and the low roar of speculation,
astonishment, satisfaction he drew in his wake. It seemed like every
single student of the academy had turned out to watch him leave in
disgrace, excepting only her.

But then, he'd known she wouldn't be here.

Far
more surprising than Anthy's absence was Touga's presence. Saionji
didn't slow his steps when he caught sight of his former friend waiting
by the gate, but for a shameful moment, he wanted to.

In all
fairness, Saionji couldn't begrudge him his triumph. Not this time. Had
Touga not been there, things might have ended far worse. Had Touga not
thrown himself in front of his sword and shocked him to his senses...
Saionji could not even remember just what had happened; events had
blended into a fragmented cacophony of noise, color and motion in his
memory, the familiar heft of his katana in his hands the only
recollection he was certain of.

They'd said he might have killed the Tenjou girl.

He
remembered the warmth of sunlight on his face like a promise. The
castle in which eternity dwelled had moved into his grasp, just as the
letter from Ends of the World had promised, and he had reached out to
claim it, his Anthy by his side. That meddlesome chit Tenjou Utena had
been there, interfering in things she didn't understand, as usual -
glaring at him as though he were hurting Anthy, as though he were the
one violating the rules, *he*, when he had been sent by Ends of the
World

something terrible had happened. Something had gone
horribly wrong, and everything had been lost, eternity shattered. All
around Saionji towers had crumbled, pillars had collapsed, graves had
yawned, living people lying there in the midst of a spray of rose
petals, dying, dying, no hope of anything eternal, no hope of anything
at all

A spray of rose petals surrounded his Rose Bride, lying so
still, so cold, extinguished.

and then

the
castle had been in the sky where it always was, untouchable, eternal,
always and forever out of reach. But Anthy had still been there, and a
kernel of eternity slumbered within her. He could still feel it even
now, smothered in transience and dying rose petals but pristine,
waiting to be wakened. He needed to waken her, needed her, *needed*,
and he had reached out to sweep the Tenjou girl out of his path so he
could be with Anthy, find eternity with Anthy.

Touga had been there ahead of him, like he always was. In
front of him, blocking his path - stopping his sword.

There
were few things Saionji knew as well as the weight of his sword in his
hands. With the strength of Saionji's entire body behind the blade,
Touga's uniform and skin and muscle barely jolted the hilt in Saionji's
grip. But he had felt it. It took a long slow moment for the blood to
well up, and by the time it did, Saionji's katana, the most precious
thing he'd ever owned, had fallen from his grip to clatter unheeded to
the stones.

Saionji had often thought the bond he and Touga
shared had broken. Their friendship had started out earnest and joyful,
but somewhere along the way, something essential had been lost; they'd
turned it into a dark thing, sullen and tinged with malice. Sometimes
he'd wished he could be free of the ties that forced him to see
everything he had achieved in the shadow of Touga's greater successes.
He'd always known it wasn't possible.

*But now you've killed him,* the sword sang to him as it fell
from his hands. *You've killed him, and now you will be free.*

And
he found, as his heart turned to ice in his chest, that he didn't want
to be free. Not at that price. It hurt to look into a flame that blazed
so brightly, you would burn to ash if you got too close, but how could
you wish that much fierce beauty extinguished from a world where all
else was cold and drab and unremarkable... even if it wouldn't last,
yet while it burned, for that brief, fragile moment, it was to be
treasured.

Of course he'd realized in the next instant, before
his sword had rung out against unyielding stone, that he hadn't killed
Touga. He'd dealt him no more than a shallow cut that would bleed
copiously and need stitches, but wouldn't even slow him down. And by
then Touga had been lying in the arms of the Tenjou girl, who'd been
looking at him as though he'd fought his way through armies for her,
caught all the stars from the sky and laid them at her feet, parted the
seas... and at Saionji as though he were the devil incarnate.

And Anthy had been huddling behind her, the same look in her
eyes.

Saionji
hadn't been certain whether Touga, too, would believe Saionji's
obsessive drive to find something eternal had led him to violate the
dueling code and intentionally threaten Tenjou Utena's life... But
then, Touga was probably the only person in existence who knew Saionji
well enough to realize how absurd that suspicion was.

It seemed
that there was still something of what they had once shared left,
buried under the detritus of rivalry and aloofness. In spite of
everything, they were friends.

It had been a long time since
Saionji had felt anything but anger, regret and bitter loneliness in
the other's presence. A sudden surge of shame and the familiar wish to
recapture the closeness they had once shared made Saionji grope for
some token he could offer Touga. The one thing left him - the only
thing truly precious to him was the exchange diary he had kept with
Anthy. He didn't want to keep it and have to look at it every day with
the knowledge of what he had lost, but he couldn't give it away,
either. Not to anyone, except, maybe...

Touga took the diary
somberly, inclining his head in immediate understanding. "I will take
responsibility for delivering it to her."

Saionji nodded numbly
and stared at the patterned marble beneath their feet, unable to meet
his friend's eyes. "I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused you."

For
anyone else, it might even have meant a loss of face if their best
friend had been expelled, but no one would think less of Student
Council President Kiryuu Touga. He was a law unto himself, the
undisputed ruler of the student body both in name and in spirit. This
sordid little scandal could not touch him, and for that, Saionji was
grateful.

They'd asked him how he could have started a duel
without the permission of Ends of the World, and the only truthful
answer he'd had to give was a lie. He *had* received permission, except
that what he'd been promised had not happened. They'd asked him how he
could have attacked an unarmed student. For that, he had no answer at
all. His ears had been full of the noise the eternal castle had made
when it fell, his body throbbing with the agony of a golden spire
piercing his chest and tumbling masonry crushing his flesh. His sight
had been filled with rose petals, fleeting, futile, doomed, and there
had been someone standing in his path, blocking him from the one thing
that was eternal, and he *needed* so much...

And so his sword had reached out and struck, and the body that
had fallen before him had been Touga's.

The
more Saionji tried to piece his memories together into a coherent chain
of events, the more they splintered to fragments without meaning or
purpose, incomprehensible, swirling loosely in his mind, refusing any
kind of order.

He shook his head and cleared the clamoring splinters of
recollection from his thoughts with a conscious effort.

More important now was that Himemiya Anthy had not come. She
wasn't here, but he needed to see her. And so, since she would not come
to him, had never come to him except when compelled by the rules that
bound all who fought to bring revolution to the world, he went to her.

***

"Anthy..."

He didn't know what to say. He
never knew what to say to her except that he loved her and needed her
and would do anything for her, and now that he could not with honor
speak any of the words that wanted to leap from his heart to his
tongue, there was nothing left but silence.

But no matter that
he had to stop after saying her name, helplessly casting around for
anything to excuse his crimes, floundering before the embarrassed and
slightly fearful expression on her face. No matter, because his entire
being thrilled to her nearness. The familiar surge of wild emotion was
rising in his chest; his heart was racing, his cock hardening.

"I
- " His voice sounded strained and unfamiliar, and he stopped to clear
his throat. "Anthy. No doubt you've heard that I have been expelled -
but I need you to know that I received permission to duel from Ends of
the World. I would never transgress against the dueling rules." But he
had. He'd believed he'd been granted a special dispensation, yes, but
he hadn't. The letters from Ends of the World couldn't be trusted.
Another certainty gone, another illusion shattered. It was no more than
he should have expected, but he hadn't been on his guard, and now there
was no more hope for winning back Anthy, ever.

Nothing else, no
one else, had ever made him feel the way Anthy did. He knew that
everything he wanted, everything he needed was embodied in her slight
form, and if he could only understand what it was, if he could only
learn to look a little bit further beyond the prim hair and demure
demeanor and see everything she was, it could all be his.

Except that he would never get the chance to understand, never
know more of her. Not now. Not ever.

Frustration,
shame, and longing lodged painfully in Saionji's throat, and there was
a moment when the familiar tide of tangled wildness evoked by her
nearness surged up violently

(because it was *her* fault, she'd never truly loved him)

and
it was all he could do to prevent himself from hitting her. If she'd
truly loved him, if she hadn't been so - it was her fault, this was all
her fault...

No. *No.* *No!*

"Saionji-sempai."

Closer than before, and - from above?

Saionji
lifted his head to find Anthy standing above him, looking
uncomfortable. Probably wishing for Tenjou to come home and chase him
off with his tail between his legs. Didn't want to witness this
embarrassing spectacle of a former boyfriend making a fool of himself,
falling to his knees at her doorstep...

When had he fallen to his knees?

He
got up hastily, ignoring the dizziness that swept over him and
threatened to make him stumble. Anthy was slightly blurry when he
looked at her again, but at least the perspective was right again - her
head was tipped back and she was looking up at him.

After today, he might never see her again.

The
terrifying emptiness of his future unfolded before him. He needed to be
near her. All he wanted was to see her every day, to feel her presence
resonate in his soul. Yes, he'd wanted much more than that once, he'd
*had* more, but now, he would have settled for being near her and
counted himself the luckiest of men.

Anthy reached out and
touched the back of his hand lightly, brushing the skin with her
fingertips. It was an odd gesture, and it was the first time she had
ever touched him without his prompting. "Cheer up, Saionji-sempai."

"Himemiya!"

The
Tenjou girl was rounding the corner from the direction of the main
school building. Alarm leapt into her face at the sight of him, and her
steps sped up until she was running towards them. "Leave her alone! Get
away from her! Don't you touch her, you - "

Saionji stepped away too quickly. Even a day ago, he wouldn't
have backed down like this, but now...

"I
was just leaving," he said coldly, turning on his heel and stalking
off. He refused to think about the worried and questioning look Tenjou
cast at her friend, checking to see whether he'd hurt or upset her.

At least he knew he'd only imagined the hint of a malicious
smile that had seemed to be playing on Anthy's lips, because Anthy did
not smile like that.

***

There was no point in taking the train to Tokyo. His
parents would have nothing to say to him now that he'd brought disgrace
upon himself. He could have stayed with Touga, but he didn't want to
put Touga in such an awkward position; his parents were sure to
disapprove. Apart from Touga, he could think of no one who might be
willing to take him in. Saionji had never had many friends, though he'd
been admired and courted by many - for his family's old and noble name,
for his position as Captain of the kendo club, Vice-President of the
Student Council and long-time Champion of the Rose Bride, for his
achievements, even just for his looks.

None of that was left
now... except for his looks, and though Saionji had always been rather
appreciative of the way he looked, as much for the aesthetic value
itself as for the practical benefits, he'd never taken any pride in it.
It was something incidental. No one except chance could claim credit
for it.

He wandered through quiet streets aimlessly for an
uncertain length of time. He couldn't remember whether it had been
morning, midday or afternoon when he'd walked off the school grounds
and down to town. By the time he roused himself from his numb stupor,
the bleached irreality of a world on the brink of night surrounded him.

The hotel he found was unprepossessing, but reasonably clean,
and more importantly, inexpensive. He had a handful of change in his
pocket and there was left-over money from his quarterly allowance on
his bank account, and that was it. He'd have to make it last until he
could come up with some idea of what to do with the rest of his life,
now that everything he'd been studying and fighting and hoping for had
moved forever beyond his grasp.

He didn't feel like eating; he lay on the bed and stared at
the ceiling while the night grew darker outside the narrow window. When
he finally slept, his dreams were washed-out and empty of meaning.

***

The pain of being burned alive woke him. He knew
immediately that he was dying. It was impossible to survive anything so
excruciating. It was far beyond the grasp of his pride, stoicism, or
even stubbornness. If he could have, he would have screamed, or sobbed,
or even whimpered. He couldn't. The agony had frozen every muscle into
voiceless torment. He could not even draw breath.

There was no
sense of time passing - every part of him was occupied with feeling the
pain saturating every cell of his body. He didn't know how long he was
caught in the glare of agony. All he knew was that at some point, it
stopped.

He gasped for breath and curled into a ball on the
sweat-damp blanket, prompted by an instinct he had no strength to
resist. What the hell was happening to him? There hadn't been anything
wrong with him yesterday - he'd never had seizures or attacks of this
kind. His nerves were still sending painful twinges of aftershock
through him, and he felt appallingly weak. When he tried to uncurl and
sit up, he managed no more than some misdirected floundering before
giving up and subsiding into a foetal ball again. His teeth were
chattering, and he was shivering all over like a nervous horse.

This was not happening. He was *not* dying - he refused to
die. This was not happening!

He
tried some meditative relaxation techniques, but he wasn't sure if they
had any effect. He couldn't concentrate properly through the fear and
his body's trembling.

It was a long time before the tremors
that shook him subsided and he felt back in control of his body. After
an eternity of waiting, the sweat of pain and terror chilling his bare
skin, he moved again, very carefully. He felt drained, every fiber
strained beyond the limit. But he could move again, and the shivers
that ran over his skin now were simply the result of cool air and wet
skin. Nothing hurt anymore, at least nothing more ominous than the dull
ache of severely overtaxed muscles.

He'd tried to brace himself for a renewed onslaught of the
pain, but to his immense relief, it didn't come.

It
took him several minutes to uncurl and lie on his back, partly because
he stopped to rest several times and partly because he moved with
deliberate care, still fearing the damage the attack might have
inflicted. Once safely stretched out, he tested his limbs one by one,
arched his spine and finally, when everything seemed to be more or less
in order, lay still for another couple of minutes to gather his
strength. His body was recovering; he felt stronger already, and when
he lifted his hand to his head to scrape a sweat-drenched tangle of
hair off his brow and out of his eyes, his fingers hardly trembled at
all.

Longingly, he thought of a long soak in a hot bath to
soothe and relax his muscles - but he couldn't take the risk he'd have
another attack and drown, or even that he'd succumb to his exhaustion
and fall asleep, with the same end result.

A hot shower, though... He would sit on the floor of the
cubicle, just in case.

Another moment of gathering himself, and he sat up.

For
long seconds, the information his senses sent him failed to register.
Something was wrong after all, something was very odd, felt completely
wrong -

He was up far more quickly than he would have believed
possible after that. There was no full-length mirror in the tiny
bathroom, but the small square of glass above the sink sufficed to show
him that the person standing before it was no one he recognized. Only
the hair was familiar, everything else was *wrong* - the texture of the
skin, the too-rounded contours of the face, the strangely muted slant
of the cheekbones, the subtly misaligned constellation of eyes and
brows and nose, the nose itself, as it had always been but too *small*,
the chin that should have jutted more aggressively - everything
*shifted* and disarranged and horribly out of place.

The body,
the body that he could *feel*, that moved when he moved, was both worse
than the face and, at the same time, oddly reassuring for its very
unfamiliarity. It was not *his* body, but at least it wasn't
grotesquely disfigured; a woman's body, long-limbed and athletic with
small, high breasts, slim hips and slender, muscular legs.
Well-proportioned and obviously in excellent shape, attractive, but not
*his* body.

But then he moved and feet shifted on the cold tile
floor, drawing his gaze. He stared at them for a moment before lifting
his - *the* hands in front of his body and staring at them, and back at
the feet, and suddenly he realized that the bones of the knees weren't
quite solid enough, but still terrifyingly familiar, and that the curly
hair at the apex of the thighs was the exact shade of shaded green that
it should have been, and that the navel was the same, and the small
birthmark just above it to the left, and that -

Yes, the
shoulders were different but the *same*, the straight line of tendon,
muscle and bone, the curve of the clavicle too delicate, but
unmistakable...

He schooled his mind to reach for consciousness and
rise through the many layers of sleep to wakefulness, but he couldn't.
He was not asleep. This was not a dream.

For a split second
after he opened his eyes, he saw a disheveled, sweaty and pallid, but
nevertheless lovely young woman with striking lavender eyes stare at
him in horrified disbelief. Then, the image fractured into a dozen
shards of not-quite-familiar features distorted into a mocking travesty
of what they should have been.

"Hell," he breathed, and his voice was shaky alto rather than
smooth baritone.

2. ~
Choice ~

It took him a long time, but finally, he did manage to take a
shower, washing hair lanky with sweat and then cleansing the face and
body he didn't recognize. Familiar, changed and unfamiliar sensations
blended into a confused cacophony; by the time he had towelled himself
off and dried his hair, all without watching what he was doing, he was
emotionally and physically exhausted, the nervous surge of energy his
discovery had brought on completely burned up. A throbbing ache was
beginning to beat behind his eyes, promising worse to come.

There was a spare blanket folded on the foot of the bed;
Saionji
wrapped himself in the dry fabric and collapsed on the bed, immediately
dropping off into the sleep of the utterly exhausted.

He slept
until pale sunlight on his face woke him, remaining motionless even
then until the gnawing hunger in his gut drove him to move. He'd held
hard to a desperate hope that when he did finally peel himself out of
the blanket, he would be himself again, but even before he did, he knew
better. He could feel the fabric abrade his chest in a way it shouldn't
have, and when he shifted in preparation to scooting to the edge of the
bed, nothing moved between his legs.

The body was still utterly
wrong, but Saionji forced his mind away from that fact to consider the
improvement in his condition. He was not in pain, and his customary
ease of movement was back; he no longer had to strain for simple
motions, and the subliminal trembling of exhaustion had subsided.

A
few cursory stretches and he pushed the narrow bed back against the
wall and went into an elementary kata, trying out his responses and
strength. The familiar routine relaxed some of his tension and allowed
him to blank his mind, filling it with the smooth harmony of motion and
the counterpoint of his bare feet padding out an irregular, precise
rhythm on the ground.

He moved quickly through some
intermediate routines, advancing swiftly as the body responded to each
demand he made on it with practiced ease. His balance was slightly off,
his upper body strength was probably considerably reduced - hard to
tell from this type of workout - but if it became necessary, the former
would be corrected easily by a couple of intensive training sessions,
and he would soon learn to compensate for the latter. An adjustment in
fighting style, some different moves... If Arisugawa and the Tenjou
girl could fight like this, then so could he. If he had to, he would.

Well,
this was something, at least; at some point, he had decided he wanted
to remain in martial arts. Perhaps he could adopt them professionally -
he had been good enough before, and he was certain, could be at least
as good again if he put his mind to it. It was a question of discipline
more than anything else, even if - certain circumstances had changed
rather drastically.

There were a couple of high-protein energy
bars in a side pocket of his bag. Saionji downed them almost without
chewing and washed them down with six glasses of water from the tap. He
was still hungry afterwards - he needed to get breakfast, no matter
what he looked like. Clothes were less of a problem than he'd initially
feared. He quickly found a pair of pants in his bag that, when cinched
together at the waist with a belt, fit fairly well, even if they were
rather tight in the hips and clung to his thighs and buttocks more than
they used to. His shirts still fit, though they weren't nearly as
flattering on this strange new form. The shoes were the biggest problem
- they were too large. Not by all that much, though; as long as he
didn't try to run or fight, they would do well enough. He'd just have
to buy some new ones when he got the chance.

Everything else went back into the bag and he was ready to go.

He
went down the back stairs, sneaking out of the hotel quietly. It might
have been his imagination, but he thought he caught a glimpse of a
white and green school uniform and perky ponytail in the entrance hall
when he slipped past the glass door separating the lobby from the
corridor leading to the back exit, and it made his heart leap into his
throat and his hand shake when he reached for the doorknob. He didn't
want to be seen like this, not even by the dull-eyed and disinterested
old woman who had greeted him when he'd checked in the day before, let
alone by anyone who would know him, who would know what had happened -
though maybe they *wouldn't* know him now, but - he'd -

"There you are. Right on time."

A
delivery van was parked in the alley behind the hotel, the driver just
unloading a large carton from the back. Before Saionji could react, the
man had handed the box to him and slammed the van's back doors. "Good
luck, honey. I hear it's a pretty tough school, but I'm sure you'll do
fine."

Saionji glared at the delivery man in affront. *Honey?*

The
man paused in the process of getting into his vehicle, leaning over
with one hand on the open door. "I'll tell you one thing, if I were a
teacher at Ohtori, I'd give you top marks in all my courses - something
as pretty as you, you know?" And he winked, leaned over further, and
*slapped Saionji's ass*.

It was very fortunate for the delivery
man that Saionji was so stunned by the sheer audacity of it that he
failed to react for several moments. By the time blank astonishment
gave way to a hot surge of rage, the van had already turned the corner
and could be heard accelerating.

The carton contained a large
leather suitcase, key tied to the handle with a green ribbon. Saionji
unlocked the case and snapped it open to reveal three neatly packed
sets of the Ohtori school uniform for girls, several extremely short
skirts, three pairs of long trousers, a stack each of blouses,
T-shirts, and sweaters, a light jacket and a warm coat, socks, women's
underwear, pajamas and a small pouch containing two pairs of shoes. A
bag of toiletries was tucked away in one corner.

By far the most surprising, however, was the folder on the
very bottom of the suitcase.

On
top of a stack of papers lay an ID boasting the same face that he'd
been so shocked to find staring at him from out of the mirror, signed
in his handwriting, but not with his name. Below the ID lay admission
papers to Ohtori Academy in the name of Yoshitoyo Sayuri, a
computerized form letter welcoming Sayuri, a note of the dorm room
she'd been assigned, a key, a class schedule, a handful of flyers for
the kendo club, the fencing club, the tea ceremony club, the theater
club, the manga club...

He did not understand any of what was
happening, but even so, he was not going to pass up this chance. He had
lost part of himself, but gained something infinitely precious in the
process: the chance to go back to Ohtori.

Back to Anthy.

And this time, he was not going to slip up.

***

He looked like an idiot.

He had never thought the school
uniforms for girls had much charm, but never before had he appreciated
just how ridiculous they were. He felt half naked and painfully
conspicuous. Every step he took made the silly little skirt flounce and
bounce and Saionji was constantly fighting the urge to hold it down.
The white socks looked laughably childish, just like the little
sailor-type collar. Not to mention the ridiculous puffed sleeves of the
blouse. These outfits had no dignity. They were both graceless and
impractical. Every particle of his being resented the fact that he was
forced to wear such a humiliating travesty.

But wearing this
silly uniform with its ridiculous puffed sleeves and bouncy little
skirt - wearing this distorted form - had allowed him to walk back up
the road from the city, right past the giant stone griffins marking the
property of the Ohtori Academy, and pass through the rosevine-entwined
gate that he had thought never to see again.

The first familiar
face to come his way belonged to Wakaba, who was looking even more
woebegone than usual. When she caught sight of him, she stopped, jaw
dropping. "Sai - uh -"

Oh, great. Saionji rolled his eyes. "Yoshitoyo Sayuri, if you
must know. And you are?"

He'd
been assigned a room in the west dorm, but before heading to his new
domicile, he stopped and stood in the courtyard for a moment, soaking
up the inimitable, timeless atmosphere of the place. There was no place
like Ohtori.

He was back. He would be able to see Anthy. Anything else, he
could deal with.

"Sayuri-san,
wait!" Wakaba barrelled into him from behind; he only narrowly avoided
being tripped up. "Sayuri, you're new, let me show you around, let me
introduce you to my friend Utena, she's my best friend and she's just
the coolest, and we can -"

On and on she blathered, with neither
pause nor sense. Saionji forced himself to wait for her to wind down
before smiling with gritted teeth. "Thank you, Wakaba, but I want to
get settled in. I'm sure we'll run into each other again." And no doubt
they would; his luck just wasn't that good.

"Oh, sure, great, you
know, it's really amazing but you look just like this boy I - well not
*exactly*, obviously, you're a girl and all, but -"

She trailed
after him for a bit longer before rushing off, no doubt in order to
find the Tenjou girl and drag her over to meet the new student.
Wonderful.

Oh well, he supposed it had to happen sooner or later. He
might as well get it over with.

He
paid special attention to the reaction of the people he passed after
that, but even though he garnered some curious looks and one or two
students stared at him with more intensity than he thought warranted,
no one seemed particularly startled to see him. Wakaba had always been
an unusually giddy chit; maybe that fact was all that was needed to
explain her exaggerated reaction.

He'd been given a single room
in the west dorm, a circumstance that filled him with deep relief. He
really didn't want to be forced to handle a roommate right now.

There
was a full-length mirror on the door of his closet, and after stowing
the clothes away and shoving the suitcase underneath the bed, he spent
a long time simply looking at himself and trying to accept the idea
that the person he saw was him. The effort was not a success. When he
managed to view her as a stranger, he thought her attractive; she had a
shapely figure and a personable face. As soon as he allowed himself to
realize that the form in the glass was his own reflection, it mutated
into a creature from a cabinet of horrors, misshapen and disfigured.

At
some point, he realized that his hands had begun shaking and he turned
his back on the mirror and closed his eyes. He still *felt* like
himself, and that was the most important thing. He could deal with
this. He could.

There was no choice. He *would* deal with this.

***

He hadn't taken note of it before, but the halls were oddly
quiet for this time of the day. Now that he thought of it, he hadn't
heard the bells marking the beginnings and ends of class periods,
either, but then he hadn't been paying attention.

Thursday was
an odd day to be arriving at a new school, but Saionji hadn't had much
say in any of this and was willing to go with the flow. At least he was
willing to try; the headmaster's office was locked, however, though it
was well before noon. So was the administrative secretary's office.

"I'm sorry, are you looking for someone? Maybe I can help you?"

Saionji
turned to find himself face to face with one Saito Norio, a foolish and
undisciplined boy who'd once attempted to join the kendo club because
he'd thought it was "cool".

"Perhaps you can," he said curtly.
Even idiots did sometimes come in useful, after all. "Is there a reason
why nobody is working? I've just arrived and would like to get the
administrative details out of the way as soon as possible."

The
hopeful smile the boy had been wearing faltered slightly. "Well, uhm,
at a wild guess I'd say that nobody's working because today is Sunday."

"Don't be -"

But Saionji cut the scornful rejoinder short before he could
utter it fully.

Sunday?
Ridiculous. It was Thursday. It had to be. He'd been - he'd left on
Wednesday, and he'd spent one night in the hotel, where - after which
he'd come straight back to Ohtori, pausing only to change in a public
restroom on the way.

He turned away from the boy's curious gaze
to stare blindly at the schedules and notices pinned up next to the
secretary's door. Ridiculous. He couldn't have just lost three days. It
made no sense. He'd never left the hotel, and he could hardly have
spent days in the shabby little room without noticing.

Unless he'd slept for one night and three days.

Assuming
it *was* Sunday. Just - he would just assume it was Sunday and go on
from there. "Hey, are you all right?" Norio was much closer than he had
been, one hand on Saionji's arm. "You look really pale. How about - I
know, I'll make you some tea, I bet you'll feel lots better after a cup
of tea and -"

It was like suddenly turning blind - waking up
one morning and finding everything the same but changed, being forced
to fumble and stumble clumsily through rooms that should have been
familiar and safe, but that now loomed alien and filled with silent
menace.

"Sunday," Saionji murmured to himself, willing himself
to accept it and move on. It was nothing, after all, a minor detail
that could easily be digested, especially when compared to... other
things. And it did make sense of a sort - once, after a childhood
illness that had sent him into a dim twilight of heat and bright
strobing colors, he'd slept for almost 24 hours and dozed in
semi-conscious torpor for almost that long again. This was considerably
more serious than a bad case of the mumps.

So. Sunday.

Completely
unbidden, the fact that Touga's birthday was next week and he didn't
have a present popped into his head. He dismissed it as irrelevant. He
hadn't given Touga a birthday present in years. Even if he'd wanted to,
which he didn't, he could hardly give him one while he was in this
state.

The world came into focus again reluctantly, and with a
small start of surprise, Saionji realized that Norio had one arm around
his waist and was in the process of dragging him down the hall to the
dorms. "- my mom sent them to me specially, they're really good, you'll
be sure to feel a lot better, and if not we can call the nurse and -"

He
was severely tempted to toss the presumptuous blunderer across the
corridor, but contented himself with stopping in his tracks and shaking
off Norio's unwelcome touch with a single brusque movement. The last
thing he needed was to collect demerits for brawling even before he'd
officially enrolled.

Something of what he was feeling must have shown in his face;
even Norio wasn't stupid enough to follow when Saionji stormed off.

***

He didn't think about where he was going - there was
no need to. His steps led him automatically to the dojo. He'd already
laid his hand on the door before he realized that it might not be a
good idea to come here now.

The thought froze him in
indecision. Granted that it seemed highly unlikely anyone would so much
as entertain the thought of what had happened - Wakaba hadn't accepted
the evidence of her eyes, and so far no one else had seemed to find his
resemblance to the recently dismissed president of the kendo team
remarkable.

But if there was one place where he *would* be
recognized, it was here. Not only did he spend most of his time here,
but kendoka were taught to pay attention to the way the people around
them moved and held themselves - what their habitual motions and
attitudes broadcast and what they concealed. Saionji was a good
teacher. In a way, he'd be severely disappointed if any but the rawest
new students failed to realize who he was merely by watching him walk
in the door.

But... It was a simple choice, really. Entering
the dojo increased the risk of discovery, however minimal it might be,
while not entering the dojo might give him more time. He was already at
the end of his rope, though, and there was only one thing that he knew
would quiet the chaotic clamor of thought, emotion and fragmented
memories battering at him. A wise man didn't try to push himself beyond
his endurance.

He divested himself of his shoes and slid open
the door. Kitamura and Iwamoto were sparring in the middle of the floor
on the teacher's side of the dojo. At their end, a small handful of
beginners were practicing the basic moves of the suburi beneath the
watchful eyes of Inami. No one else was here yet, although the dojo
would doubtless fill up as the afternoon progressed. No one took overt
note of his arrival, which suited Saionji perfectly. He bowed politely
to Inami and the others and walked to the tatami mats behind the
sparring pair, sinking down and lowering his head.

The familiar
sounds of bamboo blades, measured breathing, harshly called-out hits
and the deliberate, light-footed dance of advancing and retreating
warriors were the most soothing balm he could ask for; even the
too-heavy and arrhythmic sounds that filtered through from beginners'
practice could not lessen the effect.

It took him longer to
clear his mind than it should have, but under the circumstances, he
considered this a forgivable lapse.

Unsurprisingly, when he did
manage to detach himself from his surroundings, Saionji stepped into
chaos. He'd been aware that the calm he'd managed to uphold was only a
thin veneer, but knowing it and being faced with the reality were two
different things. Still, he knew when a battle could be avoided and
when it had to be fought, and he was not afraid to face the enemy, no
matter which shape it took.

The quicksilver stab of entwined fear
and aggression and the dull metallic aftertaste of despairing rage were
old and familiar enemies; these, he could disentangle and dispel.
Underneath were tangled layers of emotions new and old, sending up a
dissonant cacophony. Strangely, they seemed distant - vague and
smothered beneath a stifling, pervasive numbness. Shock, he decided.
Not surprising - not even necessarily a liability, considering that it
had damped what he felt sufficiently to keep him functioning. All the
same, it would not do in the long run, and Saionji was nothing if not
persistent. After everything that had happened to him, he was not going
to be defeated by his own mind.

He paused, gathered himself and
then struck anew, every ounce of determination, strength of will and
stubbornness he could summon backing the thrust. Piercing a vague
blankness shot through with disbelief and denial, he finally came upon

the
flash of sunlight on metal, clatter of steel on stone. Crumbling
battlements fell all around him, golden spires piercing his chest, cold
metal sinking into his heart

Darkness. There was cold stone
beneath his thin-soled shoes, the chill slowly creeping up his ankles.
Faded scent of smoke and flowers, faint tang of something else,
something sickly-sweet and cloying. The low sound of every step echoed
dully in wide-open spaces. Nothing felt real, not even the twin weight
of the shinai he carried in one hand.

Anthy. Anthy. Himemiya

The
subtle thrum of something indefinable, something powerful and alien,
wrapped about his mind, seeped through his body until it almost seemed
to own him. He stopped and turned to look at the girl on Touga's arm,
previously only a nameless, faceless cypher, one anonymous
representative of a vast and entirely homogenous whole: Touga's lovers.

You're my one and only best friend, aren't you, Kyouichi?

Bamboo
blades, steel blades, the calculating glint in blue eyes, honey-smooth
words twining around his heart, more jarring than the harsh iron scent
of blood. His one and only best friend, twining a long strand of
moss-dark hair around his fingers, smiling... You're beautiful. The
petals of a green rose fluttering to the ground, stirred into a small
drift by the wind. *Her*, eyes wide and dreamy, smiling... I am engaged
to you now, Saionji-sama.

Inevitable loss of friendship, of hope, of self. Pain,
pervasive and inescapable, eroding everything he was.

Cheer up, Saionji-sempai. Aren't you my one and only best
friend?

Sweat-drenched
hair clinging to his - *his* face and neck, eyes wide and horrified in
the cracked mirror, reflecting a stranger. Reflecting himself, though
grotesquely disfigured, distorted and twisted out of all recognition.

Good luck... The burn of an alien power, running through his
blood like corrosive acid. I belong to you now, Saionji-sama.

Saionji
was overwhelmed by the rush of fragmented memory, drowning in it; he
allowed it to wash through him without attempting to master it. Only
after it had ebbed slightly did he set to work disentangling the
memories and their respective emotions.

It wasn't enough. Even
when he'd done everything he could, pushing himself into a collected
state of awareness mostly by dint of sheer stubbornness, unrest and
fear were still gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. To achieve
true inner balance, he would have to accept what had happened - from
the catastrophic farce of a duel and resultant expulsion to the
inexplicable change that had come over him. Accept it and move past it.
He didn't know how, though. He couldn't even imagine where to start.

For
now, he would content himself with calming the storm that had been
raging unchecked. It would suffice. There would be other, better
opportunities for attacking the underlying problems. Perhaps once he'd
had a bit more time to accustom himself to his changed circumstances...

Saionji relaxed into the moment, reaching as deep as he could
to
center and ground himself, allowing the familiar silent strength to
wash over him.

When he raised his head and opened his eyes, he looked
directly into deep grey eyes and a familiar narrow face.

"I
am Iwamoto," she said, bowing slightly. He returned the greeting
automatically, stating his new name with a natural-sounding confidence
that gratified him.

Her gaze was piercing, and only now did he
realize that he'd walked into the part of the dojo reserved for
advanced kendoka without so much as an introduction. Iwamoto did not
seem to be offended by his presumption, though; her inspection was
thorough, but seemed neutral and matter-of-fact.

When her eyes
swept up to his again, Saionji thought for a long, breathless moment of
mingled apprehension and illogical, misplaced hope that she'd
recognized him.

"Come," she went on at last, not bothering with small talk.
"You require equipment, Yoshitoyo-san."

Saionji
smiled, pleased by as much by her easy acceptance as by the idea of a
match with her. She was one of the best kendoka at the Academy, lesser
only than Saionji himself and Touga... and perhaps that Tenjou girl.

There
had been no kendo gear in the suitcase so mysteriously provided for
him, and even though his old dogi and hakama presumably fit still, he
hadn't brought them - they were locked away in a locker at the train
station with the rest of his belongings. Iwamoto didn't waste time
asking why he hadn't come to the dojo with the necessary equipment;
instead, she showed him to the changing room and strode off briskly,
returning after a brief delay with a set she'd presumably borrowed from
the team's supply of spares.

They bowed and squared off.
Iwamoto chose a jodan stance, shinai raised high above her head to
indicate her intention to fight this match from the offensive. It was
Saionji's own favored stance, but instead of copying it, he chose to
start from a chudan position, weapon raised slightly to counter
Iwamoto's stance.

Iwamoto was aggressive and confident; with a
harsh cry, she opened the match with series of quick, almost brutal
attacks flowing seamlessly into each other, a series that almost won
her the match then and there. As Saionji had expected, his balance was
slightly off and, as a result, he wasn't as swift or sure-footed as he
expected himself to be. When he sprang forward to undercut a high
stroke, stepping inside the attack and catching and trapping Iwamoto's
shinai with his, Saionji nearly made yet another beginner's mistake,
instinctively moving to exploit a momentary imbalance in Iwamoto's
stance only to find that he couldn't bring to bear the measure of force
he instinctively believed himself capable of.

Strength wasn't
the decisive factor in kendo, but miscalculating it was a grave error.
Iwamoto wasn't noticeably stronger than him even now; he should have
been able to use the opening she'd given him to end the match. As it
was, his miscalculation prevented him from freeing his shinai long
enough to launch a successful attack, just as it had previously made
for several unsatisfactory attacks that should have carried him through
his opponent's defenses and had instead led only to stand-offs.

Iwamoto
twisted to the side and away, stepping back to deliver a one-handed
attack from the distance. Risky and flamboyant, and not something she
made a habit of. Also ill-advised, in this particular case. Saionji
noted the move to be analyzed later even as he scored a *kote* hit to
Iwamoto's sword arm. His voice as he called out the hit was too high,
hoarse and entirely unfamiliar, but Saionji barely noticed as Iwamoto
regrouped and charged; he'd finally blanked his mind enough to let his
body settle into the natural rhythms of the fight. Because he still
miscalculated his own movements slightly, he left himself open a number
of times, but he stored these mistakes away and went on without
hesitation, moving with the flow of the battle.

Familiar.
Soothing. The swift rhythm of attack, block flowing into
counter-attack, repeated until the separate motions built into a single
flowing exchange of quicksilver motion, bamboo blades whirring too
rapidly to be controllable on any conscious level. After a moment,
Iwamoto's movements began to open to him, unfolding from the minute
evidence of the flick of her eyes, the shift of her balance, the subtle
flex of muscles, the angle of her chin and set of her mouth.

Perhaps
sensing that the balance of the match had shifted, Iwamoto pulled back,
raising the shinai high above her head into jodan once more. Confident,
even brash; Saionji approved. Perfect balance, the part of Saionji's
attention that always watched for such things noted. Sword raised at
the optimum angle. She rose on the balls of her feet, one shoulder
dipping slightly, and just before her sword could blur into the
lightning arc of her attack, Saionji struck. *Do*, a solid hit to her
side, and even as he barked out the hit, he spun and went into jodan
himself. She was nowhere near his blade when he brought it down. *Men*
to finish the match.

There was a silence of several long moments as Iwamoto stared
at him. She extended her right hand in respect when they bowed.

"You're
good," she said as soon as she'd come up. "You're very good. You're
going to join the club, right? With you on the team, we should be able
to take the championship for the fourth year running."

Saionji smiled at her. For one fragile moment, the world
seemed to be righting itself.

"What
a shame the captain isn't in today," Iwamoto added. "I'd love to see
the two of you spar. Your style is very similar. We have *got* to
arrange for that."

"The captain?" He hadn't meant to ask that.
It slipped out before he could stop himself, and even as Iwamoto nodded
and opened her mouth to answer, Saionji knew what she would say. He
knew, and he didn't want to hear it.

"Kiryuu Touga, the Captain of the Kendo Club and President of
the Student Council."

***

Normally, Saionji would have practiced all through
the afternoon, honing his own skills through free-form training and
sparring sessions and later supervising evening practice. There were no
regular practice sessions scheduled for Sunday, so the dojo would not
fill up as much as it did on weekdays. The students that did come,
however, would work hard and stay late. They were the ones Saionji
approved of most - the ones for whom kendo was not a game or a
diversion, but an art and a calling.

Later still, when even the
last kendoka had left, Saionji would practice those kata that were
performed best in complete silence, with the lights in the dojo turned
low and night velvet-deep beyond the windows. He would lose himself in
the elegant, deliberate movements until his body and mind were at
peace, anchored in the silence of the night and soothed by the gentle
darkness reaching in to calm and dampen the unrest and uncertainty of
the day.

Not this Sunday, though.

By rights, Iwamoto's
mention of Touga filling Saionji's position shouldn't have come as a
surprise. With the captain gone, of course the deputy moved up to fill
the vacant position, at least until a new captain could be determined
by vote. It was why the deputy was there in the first place, after all.
Even so, Saionji couldn't help but feel slighted. It was childish, but
there it was. No one so much as mentioned that Touga hadn't always been
the captain, when Saionji hadn't even been gone for a full week. No one
hesitated over Touga's name when they spoke of the captain... and they
spoke of him quite often.

Childish, Saionji chided himself
savagely even as he stalked off. He'd made himself smile through the
warm welcome the senior members of the club had given him and endured
their congratulations on his well-fought match with gritted teeth, all
the while trying not to let on that he was seething. When they'd
started discussing his moves and, from there, naturally segued into a
discussion of the favored moves of their esteemed Captain Kiryuu, who -
rather charmingly, as Iwamoto threw in with a giggle that immediately
lowered Saionji's estimation of her - insisted on being called Touga,
Saionji excused himself abruptly. Enough was enough.

Once again, his feet automatically chose to carry him where he
needed to go. It was time to see Anthy.

***

Anthy was not there. The colonnade lining the court
seemed strangely empty, even though there were a number of students
about. Saionji felt a hollow emptiness spread in his gut even as he
turned onto the small gravel path leading to the glass dome's door.

His
hand hovered above the doorknob for long moments before he drew it
back. He couldn't see her inside of the greenhouse, and what was more,
he *knew* she wasn't there. He would have known if she was. He always
knew when she was near.

He stood on the carefully raked path
for a long time, eyes locked unseeing on the elegant leaded glass door,
before turning and slowly making his way back to the dorm.

Saionji woke up twice during the night, his heart racing and
sweat cool on his skin, but he couldn't remember dreaming.

***

The beginning of the school week brought on a blur
of classes and visits to the assorted administrative assistants,
supervisors and deans Yoshitoyo Sayuri needed to consult before she
could consider herself properly enrolled at Ohtori. When Saionji walked
from one classroom to the next or when he was on the way to yet another
office, he invariably passed through the courtyard, regardless of
whether this was the shortest route or not. The greenhouse was always
silent and deserted.

It was lunchtime on the third day when
Wakaba finally cornered him, her overly cheerful greeting alerting him
mere moments before she barrelled into him. "Sayuri-sempaaai! Hey,
Utena, over here, over here! Oh, it's so wonderful to see you again! I
hope you like it here so far, has everyone been nice? If you have time
now we could show you around - Utena!"

Saionji straightened his
shoulders and set his mouth. He could feel his nostrils flaring when he
took a deep breath. He knew just how foreboding and arrogant he looked
when he donned this expression, but neither Wakaba nor that Tenjou chit
chose to take note.

"Wakaba, have you seen -"

"This is Sayuri-sempai! I've been telling you about her - and
this is Utena-san, my best friend in the entire world!"

He
and the Tenjou girl muttered all the appropriate things while Wakaba
stood by and beamed, evidently believing that she had just forged an
instant and lifelong friendship. Tenjou's smile seemed friendly enough,
though distracted. For his part, Saionji did his best to appear like a
neutral stranger. It wasn't easy, but he thought he managed to give an
adequate performance... more than good enough, considering that his
audience consisted of Wakaba, who wouldn't have been convinced they
weren't getting on like a house on fire by anything less than a
fistfight, and Tenjou, who was at this very moment glancing toward the
door for the third time in the course of their extremely brief official
acquaintance.

Wakaba gave her friend a playfully admonishing slap about the
head. "How much she looks like Saionji-sempai, silly!"

Tenjou's
frown deepened; she spent the short interval before she answered by
giving the door yet another furtive glance. She was quite obviously
waiting for someone. An assignation?

Saionji's eyes narrowed involuntarily as he ran through the
short list of probable candidates.

"I don't know, Wakaba - I remember you talking about him, but
I didn't know him. I never even saw him, so I have no idea -"

A
chill crept through Saionji's heart. Wakaba's voluble protestations
barely registered in his mind. He stared at Tenjou, barely managing to
school his expression into something that he hoped would pass as polite
interest when she turned back to him with an apologetic little smile.

No
one except Wakaba seemed to remember him. No one else had seemed to
note "Sayuri's" resemblance to him at all - not Iwamoto and not anyone
else he'd met in his new form. No one had ever so much as mentioned him
within his hearing, not even to gossip about his scandalous conduct or
to speculate on the grounds for his expulsion. Considering that such a
juicy bit of gossip should have kept the mills grinding for several
weeks at least, that was perhaps the most ominous sign of all. Instead,
the hottest item in the gossip-mongers' arsenal was Touga's impending
birthday - who was and who wasn't invited, who would be turning up in
whose company, who would get to stay overnight...

It was almost
as though there were a conspiracy of silence afoot, but Saionji was
convinced no one had to pretend to ignorance. That would have felt
entirely different; there would have been sidelong glances, unfinished
sentences, sudden silences and knowing half-smiles. Instead, there was
nothing. They truly didn't remember.

It was as though Saionji had never existed.

Tenjou's
eyes were clear and cheerful, her face open and devoid of guile. She
shook her hair out of her eyes impatiently and gave him a friendly grin
that he found himself completely unable to return. "I'm sorry, but I'm
waiting for a friend, and I really should go and see what the hold-up
is. I'm sure I'll see you around. Do you play basketball or soccer, by
any chance?"

After a long moment, Saionji managed to drag his
mind back to the conversation enough to shrug in response to the girl's
question. He'd never had much interest in team sports, and even if he
had, he had a vague recollection of overhearing the captain of the
soccer team enthuse about Tenjou's unstoppable offensives. If there was
a chance she was on the soccer or basketball team, he was going to stay
as far away from them as he possibly could.

"I swim, though my
times aren't particularly good. I'm a kendoka." Now his own eyes were
going to the door, though he wasn't waiting for anyone, not even Anthy.
Was she the friend Tenjou was waiting for? Was Touga?

When he
forced himself to turn back to the Tenjou chit, she was watching him
curiously, almost as though he'd revealed some kind of secret. "You
must be the new student everyone's been talking about, then," she said
at last.

Saionji knew her eyes would go to his hand even before
they did. Tenjou was one of the least subtle people he had ever met; if
she'd broadcast her moves in a swordfight as much as she did her
everyday thoughts, a three-year-old could have beaten her.

In
his first duel with her, Saionji had come to the realization that
Tenjou fought purely on instinct; there was no forethought to any of
her moves. It was just another thing to dislike her for. Not only did
she have an enormous amount of raw talent, but even now, her instincts
were those of a swordmaster, every aspect of battle coming to her as
naturally as breathing - and instead of nurturing and schooling these
rare gifts as they deserved, she lightheartedly left them to rot, only
dragging them out every once in a while in order to fight for the Rose
Bride.

Perhaps he wouldn't have been as resentful of this if she
hadn't always won.

The
chit's gaze lingered on Saionji's hand for a long moment before darting
to the other one. He obligingly pushed an errant strand of hair behind
one ear, casually displaying his bare fingers in the process.

"I've heard you're very good," Tenjou went on, her voice now
tinged with curiosity. "Maybe we could spar sometime?"

His
first impulse was to refuse, but he swallowed the violent denial that
leapt to his tongue and forced a smile instead. "I look forward to it."

It was never a mistake to study your enemy's style.

***

He'd heard the quick footsteps behind him, but he
hadn't thought to turn around. Students ran down the halls of Ohtori
all the time, late for their classes or a private appointment, or
sometimes just too filled with youth and high spirits to walk more
sedately.

That was why the sudden, brutal grip on his arm
caught him by surprise. By the time he'd been yanked around to face the
attacker, however, he'd recovered, automatically falling into a neutral
stance from which he could attack or defend with equal ease. He was
best with a sword, but far from helpless without one.

Touga... unexpected only because of the unfamiliar expression
on his face, stunned and wide-eyed.

Saionji
had deliberately not dwelled on the question of why only Wakaba had
found the resemblance the new student bore to an old one remarkable. He
couldn't explain it, and brooding about it would only agitate him
further, but bring him no closer to an explanation. It would serve no
purpose.

He *had* wondered whether Anthy and Touga would
realize who he was, or at least who he looked like. This was one
question answered, at least. More than that, it was an opportunity too
good to be passed up.

No one who didn't know Touga as well
as he did would have noticed the very slight flare of his nostrils, or
realized that it meant he was startled - trying hard not to show it but
still too off-guard to hide it all under his usual mask of amused
superiority.

Startled by the sound of Saionji's voice. Saionji could
sympathize.

Touga's gaze slid downwards as though pulled on a string,
gravitating to Saionji's chest and staying glued to his breasts.

"Don't
tell me you've never seen any before," Saionji said, an even sharper
edge creeping into his tone. He wasn't so used to this body that he
felt comfortable being ogled, even if it was only by Touga. "You've
never even heard of chivalry, have you?"

The instant the words
left his mouth, Saionji realized with a feeling of deep satisfaction
that he'd been waiting forever to say them.

The weight of
Touga's gaze lifting from Saionji's breasts was an almost physical
relief. Touga had recovered now; he was tilting his head just so to
make a curtain of scarlet sheet forward and frame his face, and the
smile that he conjured forth was his most charming, tinged with a hint
of rueful apology.

"Forgive me." His voice was dark and smooth as
honey. "I have been unpardonably rude. The only explanation I can offer
is that you bear an amazing resemblance to an old friend of mine. If I
didn't know he had no close female relatives, I'd -"

Saionji gave Touga a sub-zero smile and tugged his arm free of
his weakened grip. "Not nearly good enough."

It was petty and childish, but it felt good. Hell *yes*, it
felt good.

3. ~
Reason ~

Saionji estimated that it would take Touga two days to show up
again - the necessary inquiries into the new girl's identity and habits
would take about ten minutes and cost him one phone call, but he would
not want to turn up again too quickly. He'd want to let the girl calm
down and hear about the great Student Council President, rethink her
harsh words and wish she'd been friendlier. He'd also want to make the
meeting seem like coincidence. It wouldn't do to be caught seeming
interested. Touga was pursued. He didn't pursue, even when he did.
Especially when he did.

But he would show up again, that much was certain. Touga would
rise to the challenge. He cultivated a cool and unflappable facade, but
he was one of the proudest and most vengeful bastards around. Saionji
knew him very well. They'd known each other for seven years when they'd
come to Ohtori. It had been much longer than that, now, though Saionji
would have been hard pressed to say exactly how much longer.

Saionji's estimate turned out to be wrong. It was less than
two hours after their first run-in when Touga found him again.

***

"Sayuri-sempai!"

Saionji looked over
automatically; fortunately, the name that had been chosen for him so
inexplicably sounded enough like his own that it hadn't taken much to
train himself to react to it. Wakaba and the Tenjou girl were sitting
beneath the canopy of a large tree, around a low table set with tea
things and a plate of cookies. His gaze slid over and past them with
little interest, and he almost missed seeing Anthy's little rat
creature crawling towards the cookies.

Interest immediately
caught, he stepped closer. The table was set for three and Anthy's pet
was there, but Anthy herself was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she would be
joining her friends in a moment? "Wakaba. Utena."

"Have you seen Himemiya Anthy?" Tenjou asked immediately. "She
was supposed to be meeting us, but she hasn't turned up."

The
rat creature turned its face towards Saionji, cheeks stuffed and
bulging. He tried not to watch as it chewed, dribbling cookie crumbs
and saliva onto the tablecloth, but like so many disgusting things, it
had a fascination of its own. He'd never understood what Anthy saw in
the ugly little beast.

"She probably went to tend her roses and forgot the time,"
Saionji supplied. "I wouldn't worry. She's not punctual."

Tenjou
gave him a strange look and he realized that he should not be
displaying any knowledge of Anthy's habits. He spent a moment
half-heartedly casting about for an explanation, but decided not to
worry about it when nothing came immediately to mind. After all, it
wasn't as though anyone was going to suspect him of being the former
captain of the kendo club, returned in a brand new female body to be
near his former girlfriend.

"That's true," the chit said
slowly. After a moment, she shrugged and tugged a left-over cookie from
the rat creature's paws. "Would you like to sit down and have a cup of
tea with us, sempai?"

Saionji agreed politely and settled on the
grass next to Tenjou, careful to keep her between Wakaba and himself.
His transformation seemed to make astoundingly little difference in the
way the Wakaba chit looked at him - as though she was just waiting for
him to let his guard down for a second in order to pounce on him. It
was disconcerting.

"We were just talking about you," Wakaba
burbled happily. Next to Saionji, Tenjou started slightly, and he had
to hide a grin behind his teacup. "We saw you at practice the other
day. You're really good! Almost as good as Utena. Juri was there too,
you know, and I think even she was impressed with you. She scares me a
little sometimes, she's so perfect, but she's so cool, too. Almost as
cool as Utena. But what everyone's been wondering, you don't have a
boyfriend, do you? I bet you could have anyone you wanted. Your hair is
so pretty. I wish mine was a pretty color like that, and it's nice and
wavy, too. Mine just hangs straight down, that's why I wear it up like
this. Do you like it?"

"It's not bad," Saionji said obligingly. Hopefully, Anthy
would get a move on.

"Oh, I don't know, sometimes I think I should do something
with it, braid it or something. Utena, what do you think?"

Did girls really talk like this all the time?

"I
don't know," Tenjou said absently, playing with the only cookie that
had escaped the greedy rat creature. The subject seemed less than
riveting to her. Maybe it was just Wakaba who talked like this. "I like
it the way you wear it now. It's perky."

"But isn't it too
childish? I'm almost grown up, after all, and I think boys like it when
it's loose like yours, or Sayuri's, you know. You two are just so cool
- honest, I bet you'll get a lot of letters if you haven't already,
Sayuri! Everyone's really smitten with you."

"You exaggerate," Saionji said as politely as he could.

"No, honest! I heard Yuuko say you were her new bestseller.
All the boys are buying pictures of you."

"Remarkably stupid of them," he muttered. Honestly, what could
be keeping Anthy?

Tenjou
smiled at him, a smile that was an invitation to share something. It
took Saionji completely off guard, and he stared at her for several
long moments before he was able to summon up enough presence of mind to
smile back.

"Utena, there you are."

Tenjou jumped a little, and her eyes went wide and hazy.

"Wakaba."

Wakaba managed a squeak.

"Sayuri." Touga's voice had turned almost smoky.

Saionji inclined his head regally, not deigning to reply.

"How
fortuitous to find you together like this - I've been meaning to speak
with all of you. As you may know, I am celebrating my birthday this
evening, and I wanted to be sure you'd all received invitations. You
will do me the favor of coming, won't you?"

Tenjou blinked and stuttered.

"Sure,"
Wakaba chimed in to rescue her friend. Now that she had recovered from
her initial surprise, she seemed remarkably unimpressed by Touga's
vicinity. Even coming on the heels of her brainless chatter moments
earlier, this bought her several points in Saionji's estimation. Very
few girls could conduct themselves with a modicum of dignity when Touga
poured on the charm.

"That's wonderful. And you will come as well, won't you?"

This smile was solely for Saionji, a wonder of persuasion and
promise.

Saionji
gave a derisive snort. "I have nothing to wear," he bit out snappishly,
glaring at Touga to make it perfectly clear that his wardrobe wasn't
the issue. He didn't understand why, but the shameless way Touga was
trying to flirt with him made him angry.

He knew he'd made a
grave tactical error the instant the words had left his mouth. The
brilliant smile and the victorious sparkle in Touga's eyes were
unmistakable. "Leave that to me. I'll see you tonight, then, all of
you. I'm looking forward to it."

And he was gone.

"Fuck," Saionji said.

Wakaba squeaked again. Tenjou looked shocked, but laughed
after a moment. "He's like a force of nature, isn't he?"

That was one way of putting it. Saionji would just have called
him a pushy bastard who didn't know when to quit.

***

A half-stifled shriek echoed through the school's
empty hallway; Saionji stopped in his tracks. "No, no, no!" a girl's
voice squealed, distress open in her tone.

Saionji turned on
his heel and ran back the way he had come. The cries were coming from
one of the club rooms halfway down the hall. Most of them would be
deserted this time of day.

His hand was tightening on the
doorknob when the girl spoke again, her voice thinning into a petulant
whine. "That won't work. You're the Princess! The Princess can't be
anyone's Prince."

"What, you think I don't know that?" a
different girl's voice scoffed. "I'm not stupid, you know. But look - I
have a sword! That means I'm a Prince. I'll be your Prince, you'll be
my Princess, and everyone will live happily ever after."

"I have a sword too, and it's bigger than yours, so there!"

"Oh... It *is* bigger than mine... So that means you're the
Prince?"

"No,
silly, don't you see how sharp my teeth are? *I'm* not a Prince, I'm a
- oh, wait, I forgot I wasn't going to tell you. Yes, that's right,
*I'm* the Prince! The only Prince there is."

The
first girl's voice turned into a loud stage whisper. "Uh oh - now what
will I do? If I agree to be this lovely Princess's Prince, she'll see
my furry ears and realize I've lied to her!"

"No, I won't be
your Prince," she went on in her initial bright tones. "You're far too
ugly. You think a classically handsome, thoroughly perfect Prince like
me would sink to rescuing a runty little Princess like you?"

"But...
but I'm almost as tall as you are! See, I can stretch a little, if I
try really hard. And you told me I was beautiful..."

A tinkling
laugh pealed forth. "Ah, Your Highness, you mustn't believe everything
strange Princes tell you when the moonlight is glinting off your hair,
making you look edible! No, no, you're much too plain for me. Goodbye,
now, time's a-wasting! I have to go off and find some prettier
Princesses to eat - uh, rescue."

Saionji hesitated for a long moment before lifting his hand
from the door of the shadow play club and silently walking away.

***

The dress was waiting for him when he returned to
the dorm, delivered by express courier and packed in snowy tissue paper
and a box bearing the logo of the most expensive clothing store in
town. Of course. Only the best would do for Kiryuu Touga. Snobbish
bastard.

It was strapless, black and slinky. Saionji had to
wriggle slightly in order to zip it up the last couple of inches, and
he would have preferred it if it hadn't been cut quite so tight across
the chest. He supposed it was passable, though, if barely. It helped
that it wasn't cut particularly low and that it was almost long enough
to sweep the ground. It didn't help that it was slit almost up to the
hip on one side.

Oh well. He preferred it to the girls' uniform, at least.

Saionji
inspected the small squares of carefully folded material still lying in
the box. At first he thought the dress had come with a pair of long
gloves; he was just about to put them back when he saw that they were
sleeves. He snorted at the affectation of a dress that came with
detached sleeves, but tried them on after brief deliberation. They were
as tight and slinky as the dress itself, hugging his arms down to the
wrist, but they seemed flexible enough not to hamper his movements.

He
swept up the sheathed katana from its stand and tried a number of basic
attacks on an imaginary opponent to make sure of this before deciding
to wear the dress at it was apparently meant to be worn.

There
was yet another bit of black cloth lying in the box, but this one was
only a short length of velvet ribbon with carefully hidden fasteners
set into the ends. Saionji stared at it for a couple of moments before
deducing that it was meant to be worn around the throat. He tossed it
back into the box derisively.

Once again, he thought longingly of his uniform.

And he *still* didn't have a present for Touga.

***

"Happy birthday," Saionji said, his voice gruff.

Birthday
parties at the Kiryuu house had always been unpleasant affairs. Saionji
remembered a time when he and Touga had conspired to escape from the
reception just as soon as the stultifyingly official greeting of the
guests had wound to its ponderous close and Touga was allowed to get up
and mingle. They'd crept out through the last window on the side of the
salon that led to the garden while all of the grown-ups were standing
around discussing stock courses. They'd snuck through the formal garden
pretending to be Indians and raced each other around the house, all the
way to the pavilion in the back of the rose gardens, where Touga had
imitated all of his mother's stuck-up cousins in turn until Saionji had
been doubled up with laughter and begging him to stop.

Now,
Touga sat on the throne-like chair dominating the room with regal
composure, smiling as graciously as a sovereign granting his subjects
an audience.

"I'm very glad you could come." Touga smiled his
most kingly and gracious smile and held on to Saionji's hand for far
longer than the congratulatory handshake would have warranted. Saionji
was hard pressed not to roll his eyes.

"I don't have a present for you," he announced belligerently.

"Your presence here is -"

"Oh *please*, don't say it."

Damn! He hadn't meant to say that out loud. Had he?

Touga's eyes widened infinitesimally in startlement.

Okay, maybe he had.

"I
am happy to see that you like the dress," Touga said, stepping smoothly
into the conversational breach Saionji had created. "I knew it would
suit you - it brings out the striking color of your hair and eyes."

"Thanks."
Saionji watched Touga suspiciously, but this time, he kept his eyes
above the neckline. "I'd tell you how well your uniform suits you, but
then you already know."

Touga laughed and finally released
Saionji's hand. "I am glad you could come, Sayuri - you're a very
unusual young woman. I am looking forward to talking with you at more
length."

In other words: Dismissed.

Saionji got the
message and removed himself to the buffet, where he moodily picked up a
rather suspiciously pink canapé with a shrimp and a sprig of parsley on
top, just to have something in his hand. Maybe it would make him seem
at somewhat less of a loss than he felt. He wasn't certain why he'd
actually come, let alone in the idiotic dress Touga had sent. He'd
never felt comfortable at the stiff gatherings the Kiryuus called
"parties". Now that he wasn't comfortable with anything about himself
anymore, putting on a clingy black dress that threatened to gape open
every time he moved in order to stand in the middle of a bevy of
semi-professional gossips and curious teenagers seemed less than wise.

The certainty of her presence hit him with the force of a
sledgehammer to the stomach.

He
turned just as she stepped through the portal, hesitating briefly
before coming fully inside the room, like a lovely wild bird that might
take flight at the first sign of danger. She was even more beautiful
than he remembered, the shy little smile playing on her lips lighting
up her features into immortal perfection. Catching the merest glimpse
of her, the sculptors of ancient goddesses would have thrown down their
chisels forever in despair of ever capturing her fey winsomeness in
stone; no painter could have done her justice, no composer of this or
any century could have produced a symphony worthy of the sound of her
voice.

Anthy. At last.

He only noticed he'd started forward when the sight of the
person Anthy had been smiling at stopped him in his tracks.

Tenjou
Utena paused briefly, shoulders going back and up, chin raising a
notch. Then, she took a firmer grasp on the flowers in her hand and
strode up to Touga, looking almost as though she were marching into
battle. Anthy tagged along just like an obedient Rose Bride. Her eyes
were demurely lowered, and she only lifted them briefly to sweep a
glance across the clusters of guests as she passed.

Saionji
could not help but hold his breath as she turned her head. For one
brief and infinitely precious moment, Anthy's gaze met his.

She
did not pause; there was no spark of recognition in her eyes. Her
expression did not change at all, remaining unruffled and quietly
cheerful as she turned her full attention back to Touga and the girl at
her side.

It took Saionji several moments to realize he was the
one who'd made the choked sound echoing in his ears. There was
something almost obscene in the sight of Anthy in the company of that -
that - it was completely wrong that Anthy should be accompanying that
*imposter*. He had to - he had to do something, to get her back, to
make that Tenjou girl understand once and for all that Anthy was *his* -

Something
brittle crumbled in his hand. He looked down to find that he had
crushed the shrimp-topped canapé into an unidentifiable pink mess.

This
was wrong. Something about this was wrong. The deep breath he drew in
shuddered in his throat and pooled in his stomach like hot lead.
Fragments of memory were battering at Saionji's mental defenses,
demanding his attention. A wild and primal force was stirring in his
blood, in his bones, in every cell, raging to be unleashed. Screaming
for -

Blood soaking through a white uniform jacket, rose petals
blowing on the breeze. The scent of cold incense and polished wood.

"What - hey!"

Saionji ignored the middle-aged Kiryuu cousin in his way, the
fact that he shoved him aside with enough force to send him sprawling
to the floor barely registering in his mind. He stormed out to the
sound of Touga's deep laughter, the sight of him grinning at the Tenjou
girl. A pair of gossips he passed were turning to each other with
blissfully scandalized expressions, one of them trilling, "So Utena and
Touga are an item after all!"

***

The pavilion in the back of the rose gardens
had not changed at all in the years that had passed since he'd last
been there. Saionji had always loved it; it was a graceful marble
construction tastefully adorned with slender pillars, arches and
decorative latticework, and it served no truer purpose than being
ornamental.

Saionji wasn't certain how long it had been since
he'd been here last, and in his already more than unsettled state, that
realization disturbed him. There was something deeply wrong with the
vagueness of his memory on this point, for no reason he could quite pin
down. So what if he wasn't certain whether it had been five years, or
eight, or ten - or more? Except, of course, that it couldn't have been,
because he had only met Touga when they'd both been seven years old.
And that had been... how many years ago?

When had time stopped
flowing like a calm river? Now there were eddies and currents, and when
he thought to look up from whatever it was he was doing, he'd find that
he was still in the same place, even though he'd been moving all the
while. Moving sideways. Turning on his own axis. Treading in place.
Moving backwards.

Ridiculous. Wasn't it?

He sat down on one
of the elegant wrought-iron benches set up on the pavilion's marble
patio, but jumped up again almost instantly, pacing around the small
building. His gaze passed indifferently across rose trellises richly
adorned with deep red blooms, carefully clipped hedges and trees. After
a moment, he gathered himself and concentrated on breathing. Meditation
was out of the question right now, but at least he should be able to
calm himself.

It did help. After long moments, he succeeded in
subduing some of the agitation roiling in his blood and leaned against
the pavilion's side tiredly, tilting his face towards the darkening
sky. The moon was already up, even though the sun had not yet set. It
was almost full and shone pale silver against the blue sky.

Saionji's
hand was still sticky from the canapé. He sniffed at his fingers and
grimaced at the heavy tang of fish overlaid by unidentifiable
chemicals, prudently deciding against the course of licking them clean.

"Sayuri-sempai?"

The
first name that flashed through his head, accompanied by a blinding
surge of unreasoning, illogical hope, was Anthy; the second, crushing
him with a steel grip that felt almost like fear, was Tenjou Utena; and
then, strangest of all, with a vertiginous mixture of anxiety and
elation, Touga.

Of course, it was none of these people. None of
them had a reason to follow him, and what was more, the voice hadn't
resembled any of theirs - least of all Touga's.

Wakaba stepped
through the carefully arranged wilderness of flowering bushes and a
spray of well-groomed ferns, her expression as uncertain as her voice
had been.

"Wakaba," Saionji said quietly.

"Are you all
right?" The girl stopped at some distance, her bearing marked by
uncharacteristic diffidence. "Do you need anything?"

He shook his head and forced a smile. "I'm fine."

"It's
just - I saw you leave." Wakaba watched him in silence for a moment
before perching on the edge of one of the benches. There was open
concern in the look she gave him. "I - if there's anything I can do to
help, anything at all..."

She trailed off helplessly.

Oddly
enough, the silence that fell in the wake of her offer was not
uncomfortable. It was the first time Saionji had ever felt at ease in
Wakaba's presence; she was different tonight. She was just *there*, not
making any demands, not expecting anything, not even his attention.
Just unobtrusively providing companionship, if he needed it... offering
her friendship, if he cared to accept it.

He wavered for a long moment before giving in. "Thank you,
Wakaba."

"It was because it looked as though there was something
between them, wasn't it? Something special? That's why you're so upset."

For
a long moment, Saionji slumped more heavily against the wall. At last,
he hoisted himself up to sit on the windowsill behind him, legs
dangling like a child's. "Not really... I don't know. Maybe."

"You're in love with Touga, aren't you?"

An inarticulate sound of protest broke free of Saionji's
throat.

"It's okay," Wakaba went on, her voice now almost too low to
understand. "A lot of the girls are, you know."

"But I'm *not*-"

"I
understand," she said wistfully. "There's nothing you can do. It just
happens. You see someone who's beautiful and talented and fascinating,
perfect - almost like a prince in a fairytale. And just like that, all
at once you *know* that this could be the one, this is *it*. But at the
same time, you also know that no matter what you do, you won't ever get
close enough for it to happen. It hurts every time you see them and
it's worse when you don't see them, but you can't stop it, even though
maybe you want to. Even though it's hopeless and you know it, you can't
stop. Because it's so completely *right*, and it doesn't even matter
that it's never going to come true."

Overly verbose as always,
but... Saionji knew what she meant. He'd never been able to get close
enough - not in any way that counted. He thought of Anthy and wondered
if he knew anything of who and what she truly was, for all that he had
studied her every move, every expression that passed across her face.

"Sometimes, all you want is to stop feeling that way."

Saionji
started to pull one leg up onto his perch, but quickly reconsidered
when the dress began to fall open. Instead, he shifted to be able to
look at Wakaba more fully. She'd turned her face upwards to the rapidly
darkening sky, eyes glistening with moisture in the fading light.

"At least I do."

Saionji said nothing.

"It
gets to where it's the idea of it more than anything, you know?"
Wakaba's voice sounded choked, but her face was still clear, almost
distant. "The picture you have of what it could be like."

The
girl sucked in a deep, shuddery breath and then turned to give Saionji
one of her usual bright smiles. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, but
the smile was genuine. For the first time, Saionji noticed that she was
actually rather pretty.

"I'm sorry for carrying on like this.
You must think I'm a complete idiot." Wakaba glanced off to her right
and wiped at her eyes surreptitiously before smiling up at Saionji
again. "It's not usually this bad. He was - he left, just before you
came. I tried to find him because I think he needs help right now, and
I don't think anyone else is going to be there for him, not the way
they should. I almost found him, but... I just hope he's well." He'd
known she had a crush on him, of course - there was no way he could
have escaped the knowledge. Her face had begun crystallizing into that
of an individual rather than merely part of a faceless crowd when she'd
written him a ridiculous love-letter that he'd lost no time disposing
of, but even before, he'd known. He'd seen her often enough, shrinking
back into corners when he walked by or waiting outside of the dojo for
him to come out. He'd always been discomfited by the looks that she and
the others like her had given him, even while being oddly flattered at
the same time. He'd interpreted them as covetousness, lust, the wish to
annex his status and popularity through owning him... Any and all of
those, plus a dozen other factors.

He'd never thought true
caring might play into it. After all, none of these girls knew him.
Wakaba had not so much as exchanged two sentences with him before he'd
turned into Sayuri. Why would she care what happened to him now, when
most of the things that must have attracted her - status, success,
popularity and the like - were no longer his? Yet here she was,
evidently willing to stick by him even when he'd fallen into disgrace.
She thought of him when almost no one remembered he'd ever existed.

It
was almost like friendship... It couldn't be, of course. Whatever it
was, though, it was deeply felt and completely sincere. That in itself
made it something to be valued rather than derided.

"I'm sorry," Saionji said softly. "I'm truly sorry."

She
shrugged and gave an embarrassed little laugh. "Darn - I came out here
to see whether I could do something to make you feel better, and
instead I've been whining and moaning and probably depressing you even
more."

Saionji resisted the impulse to slide down from the
windowsill and sit on the bench next to Wakaba for several seconds
before giving in.

They watched the sun set in silence. From
where they sat, they couldn't actually see the sun dip beneath the
horizon, but the silhouettes of trees and hedges hiding the sky turned
into black lace, backlit by the reddening orange glow; above, clouds
were transformed into fiery, serrated teeth of light that faded slowly
into pastel and fog.

It had turned almost fully dark now,
although the stars were still hidden by the sun's reflected light. The
moon had wandered a short way across the sky and was glowing with a
cold white light.

"You're really, really pretty," Wakaba said
in a wistful tone. When Saionji turned his head, she was far closer
than she had been before. He froze, and for several heartbeats they
stared at each other from the closest of ranges. Wakaba's gaze wandered
down to Saionji's lips and clung. For a moment, he was sure she was
about to kiss him.

"Uh, I, I've got to go!" Wakaba jumped up
without warning, moving so suddenly that Saionji jerked back in
startlement. "I just remembered. I forgot. I mean, I forgot that I have
to go, to, to meet up with Utena. See you!"

Saionji murmured something she couldn't have heard; she'd
already disappeared behind shrubbery by the time he'd recovered from
his surprise.

***

The neon pink canapés had been replaced by something
vaguely green, but no less poisonous looking. Saionji gave the new
selection a suspicious once-over as he passed the buffet. It was high
time to wash the sticky remains of the pink shrimp thing off his hand.

A
small cluster of students were gathered in front of the bathroom, heads
together as they prattled. They fell silent at his approach. He ignored
them.

It had been immediately apparent that something out of the
ordinary had happened while he and Wakaba had been in the garden. The
atmosphere of the gathering had changed completely. Before, it had been
a somewhat stiff party; now, whatever festive air there had been was
gone. Those guests who weren't conversing in too-bright tones or
breaking into hearty laughter that sounded forced and far too loud were
huddled together talking excitedly, occasionally casting greedy glances
around the room. Searching for a sign of renewed scandal, no doubt.

The
girls in front of the bathroom started chattering again as soon as the
door fell shut behind him, evidently overestimating the soundproofing
quality of the wood. Saionji made no particular effort to understand
their gossip - not until he caught the name Utena, that was.

It seemed Nanami had challenged Tenjou to a duel because she
blamed her for her beloved brother's injuries.

Peculiar.
Of course, Nanami must have forgotten about Saionji's existence like
almost everyone else, and it made sense that she would settle on a girl
Touga was obviously interested in to place the blame; she'd always been
given to erratic and unpredictable behavior when it came to Touga.
Still, Saionji would have expected her brother to put a stop to any
ridiculous notion Nanami might have hatched of dueling the Champion.
The girl was talented, if undisciplined, but at her present level, she
couldn't hope to hold her own against Tenjou... and Touga knew it.

On
his way back to the ballroom, Saionji made it a point to scowl at the
gossiping girls until they broke and scattered, tittering nervously.

Saionji
made a quick circuit of the rooms opened up for the party, but Anthy
was no longer here. On the bright side, that meant that Tenjou had
likely gone home, as well - at least the chit was nowhere in evidence.
He really didn't want to see her again - today or ever, if he could
help it.

At least now that Anthy had come and gone, there was
no more reason for Saionji to stay, either - because she was the reason
he'd come in the first place, even though he hadn't exactly been in a
partying mood. He'd known there was a chance she would be there, and he
hadn't been able to resist. Obviously, she'd been the reason. What else?

Next time, he'd listen to his head rather than his heart.

"Sayuri! There you are."

Touga
stepped into his path through one of the French doors, moonlight
glinting on his hair. The effect was almost certainly calculated. "I've
been hoping I would run into you again."

Without waiting for an
answer, Touga supplied Saionji with a glass of champagne and steered
him out onto the terrace. A handful of guests were leaning on the low
banister and looking out over the moon-gilded garden, most of them too
wrapped up in their respective romances to pay attention to anyone
else. Those that were either more curious or less love-struck gave
Touga's new companion a quick once-over before pretending to
disinterest.

"How do you like Ohtori so far? I hope everyone has done their
best to help you settle in quickly."

Saionji gave a meaningless, if vaguely affirmative answer.

"I'm
sorry I haven't been able to come down to the dojo these past few days
- council business, you know. But I'm going to make the time soon. I've
heard so much about your skill that I'm eager to spar with you."

Saionji grunted noncommittally.

It
took Touga a number of minutes to give up on trying to engage Saionji
in insipid small talk. When he finally did, they shared several moments
of silence, looking out into the night side by side. You couldn't see
the moon from this side of the house, but it cast a cool white glow
over the carefully raked paths and geometric trees and lawns of the
formal garden. There was an artfully overgrown fountain off to the
right, framed by crescent-shaped flowerbeds.

Saionji felt as
though the silence and the steady presence at his side were soaking
into him. It was almost peaceful - almost like it used to be. Touga
could be good company when he wanted to be. Saionji remembered it well.

A knot of tension Saionji hadn't even been aware of began to
dissolve, eased by the illusion of companionship, meaningless as it
was. It had been a long time since he and Touga had spent time together
without some sort of wrangling for advantage being sparked off of a
challenging look, a smug grin, perceived condescension in a quirk of
the mouth or turn of the head.

This didn't actually count, of
course; for all intents and purposes, they weren't spending time
together now. Touga was merely trying to find the right opening to make
another conquest. Saionji knew this well, had watched it a hundred
times. He knew it for what it was. He knew it meant less than nothing.

When
Saionji looked to the side, he found that Touga was watching him,
wearing a soft, contented smile. The expression made him look open,
almost vulnerable.

Typical of Touga making a play for someone.
Absurd, really. Saionji should just go and get some sleep. Maybe he'd
be able to get in an extra hour or two of practice before class
tomorrow, if he turned in early.

"I realize that this is going
to sound strange... after all, I hardly know you." Touga said quietly.
When Saionji turned to give him an inquisitive glance, he avoided
meeting his gaze, looking out across the silent garden instead. The
small, now noticeably rueful smile still hovered about his mouth.

It's not real, Saionji reminded himself. It's just Touga.

"You
feel like someone I've known for a very long time," Touga went on after
a long pause. "It's as though we've known each other forever. Don't you
feel it?" Touga's eyes were almost black with the night. Saionji opened
his mouth to reply and stopped, suddenly uncertain. Of course he felt
it, but he knew that Touga didn't. It was just one of Touga's games. It
meant nothing.

"It's as though whatever I felt, I'd just have to
look at you and you'd know, without the need for words. As though I've
watched you so often that every move is familiar, every step and frown
and shake of your head..."

"What I know is that you're talking
complete nonsense," Saionji announced flatly, trying to smooth the
scowl from his features without success. Touga seemed amused,
night-dark eyes glittering, mouth soft and smiling.

"You *do*
feel it," Touga murmured. "I knew you did. I'm not surprised you think
this is a cheap pick-up line, though. It sounds like it, doesn't it?
'Our souls have recognized each other across the crowded room.'"

He'd
deepened his voice for the last bit, waggling his brows in comical
over-dramatization. Saionji snorted lightly, trying to sound annoyed
rather than amused.

Touga watched him a while longer. The
intense scrutiny became discomfiting very soon; it was Saionji's turn
to shift away and stare unseeingly into the garden, pretending to an
interest in the shadowed greenery that he knew Touga wasn't buying any
more than he himself had bought Touga's distraction a moment before.

"Sayuri."

Saionji
started at the sound of the name and stepped back when Touga reached
out a hand, retreated another step when Touga followed. "No. No, Touga,
I don't feel it - I don't feel anything except the chill. I'm going
inside. You can do what you like."

It wasn't particularly cold
yet, but Saionji had once heard a girl use the excuse of the night's
chill to escape an unwanted suitor. It was fairly obvious that it *was*
an excuse, of course, but he was certain Touga's ego would survive the
blow.

"Sayuri. May I show you something? It won't take long."

Saionji swung around impatiently. He was immediately engulfed
in a warm, Touga-scented drift of white fabric.

The
top buttons of Touga's shirt were undone and gaped slightly open, now
unconstrained by the uniform jacket. Touga was smiling still, although
now, there was an additional hint of something in his expression that
Saionji wasn't certain he could place. "As a favor to me on my
birthday. Humor a fanciful man who doesn't want to be alone just yet.
Please."

"There are dozens of guests here who -"

Touga's
mouth twisted. Saionji, who knew this expression of old, stopped
speaking immediately. "No," Touga said, his tone considerably more
harsh than before. "It isn't whether there are other people in physical
proximity, Sayuri. I've been alone all day... until I snagged you just
now."

Touga had always surrounded himself with as many people as
he could. He'd always liked to be the center of attention, everyone
looking to him. Even so, he'd always seemed aloof and untouchable,
alone in the middle of the crowd he'd drawn together with himself at
its center. Saionji was different - he'd never felt truly comfortable
in large groups. Fortunately, he didn't mind being alone. Quite the
contrary, he liked it - thrived on it, even. He'd always liked it.
Always.

He'd never felt uncomfortable with Touga. Not then. It
had been natural to spend every waking minute with the other boy. It
had felt *right*.

"Will you walk with me? Please."

Saionji
regarded Touga's extended arm for a long moment before reaching out to
take it, gripping soft silk and hard muscle and bone in a grip that was
probably too firm for that of a woman consenting to be escorted. He
found, irrationally, that he was afraid. He didn't know why, and it
made no sense, but... all of a sudden, he was afraid.

*Don't. Don't...* He clamped his mouth shut, trapping the
words that wanted to escape.

Ridiculous, he chastised himself. It was only Touga.

And
yet, his heart wouldn't settle back into a steadier rhythm, and his
throat was tight with an unknown dread he refused to acknowledge even
when it wouldn't dispel beneath his scrutiny. At last, he resorted to
simply putting it out of his mind, backing up his resolve with a small
surge of rage at his own fanciful stupidity.

Apparently, it was
later than Saionji had thought. The gardens were almost deserted,
although it was hard to be sure because Touga made certain to steer
clear of any of the more obvious spots a couple might choose to be
alone together. It wasn't cold at all - the night held no more than a
slight nip, and Saionji preferred that to the muggy, stale air of those
summer nights that brought no relief from the day's heat.

Saionji
pulled Touga's uniform jacket more securely around his shoulders when
it began to slip. Neither of them felt the need to talk, and in spite
of Saionji's lingering unease, the silence between them was a
comfortable one. They made a slight detour around the pond, where the
sound of night insects was louder than elsewhere and occasionally, a
frog could be heard calling, either for a mate or simply for the joy of
the clear night. The moon was higher now, casting enough light to
illuminate the narrow gravel path that snaked between carefully tended
flowerbeds, past the miniature labyrinth, branching in front of the
decorative bamboo glade. As Saionji had expected, Touga turned left,
leaving the path after they'd walked it for no more than several
minutes to head across an expanse of moonwashed lawn. When they stepped
over the first of the low hedges that bordered the garden they were
heading for, Touga's arm brushed the side of Saionji's breast, and he
jerked away so violently that he almost stumbled because of the
unexpected length of fabric restricting his legs.

"I hate
dresses," Saionji snarled, tearing his hand free of Touga's grip. When
had the other man pulled his arm in that tightly against his body - and
when had he put his own hand above Saionji's where it rested on his
shirt-clad sleeve?

"That's a pity," Touga said, straight-faced.
Neither his tone of voice nor his expression betrayed any emotion other
than polite concern, but Saionji knew that the bastard was laughing
himself sick in the privacy of his own head.

"You would think
so," Saionji muttered resentfully. *He* wasn't the one who had to go
jumping over hedges in the idiotic slinky dress he'd picked out, after
all.

"It's just behind that fence. Let me boost you up..."

Saionji
stared at Touga's outstretched hands for a long, incredulous moment
before staring into his friend's eyes. After several heartbeats, Touga
shrugged and lowered his arms.

Now that Saionji was warned
against the dangers of climbing in a tight dress, he had no problems at
all in scaling the trellis along the house wall and jumping over onto
the reinforced middle of the wrought-iron fence they had to climb in
order to reach their goal. The ivy winding its way through the metal
barely rustled as he searched for a foothold, another one higher up,
and then vaulted straight up and over, landing in a perfect crouch on
the other side. He remembered the uniform jacket just in time to snatch
it from the air before it landed in the dirt.

Touga dropped down next to him in almost complete silence.

The
garden hadn't changed at all. The small fountain in the center was
tinkling in the same silvery note, the ivy and blooms gracing the
trellises and elegantly wrought iron latticework tumbled in the same,
artfully casual confusion. Even the marble benches framing the central
arrangement of fountain, raked sand and roses were the same, still
gleaming white and piled with multi-colored pillows.

"This is my favorite place," Touga said quietly. "The only
place I can be truly alone, when I want to be."

They
were silent, allowing the quiet to seep into their awareness. Touga was
standing very close; close enough that Saionji wouldn't have to move
much at all to touch him. All it would take would be a slight turn, or
swaying sideways a little, and their shoulders would touch.

He was careful not to move.

"I've never taken anyone here before."

"Never?"
Saionji's tone apparently gave Touga pause; he looked at him for a long
moment before smiling slightly and shaking his head.

"Once, long
ago... I used to come here with my best friend. But that was when we
were both still children, and ever since then..."

Liar. He probably came here with every girl he wanted to
tumble, to tell her this same story.

"It's
different with you," his friend said abruptly, breaking the silence
that had fallen. "You feel... familiar. Comfortable. Right."

Saionji
waited a beat too long before pulling back when Touga leaned closer. He
could see the knowledge of it in the other man's eyes, and it made his
retort come out sharper than he had intended. "I expect that next,
you'll be telling me you've been waiting for me your entire life."

Touga's
laugh was low and husky and shivered through Saionji like a tangible
thing. He shouldn't have come here - didn't know why he *had* come.
Didn't know why he was staying when it was making him so uncomfortable.
"I might have," Touga murmured. He was standing so close that Saionji
could feel the warmth of his breath against his skin when he spoke. "If
I had known there was someone like you."

Saionji's chest hurt. He should never have come, and he wasn't
going to stay.

After
a moment's hesitation, Touga gave a minute nod. His expression was very
serious, not a hint of teasing or playfulness remaining.

Saionji
was in no mood to climb back over the fence beneath his friend's
watchful gaze. Running the gauntlet of the remaining gossips in the
ballroom on his way out held even less appeal. The fastest way off the
Kiryuu estate was through Touga's rooms, and at this point, Saionji
didn't care if he betrayed more knowledge of the house and grounds than
he should.

The glass door leading to Touga's study was unlocked
and opened to a firm push. Saionji crossed the darkened room without
waiting for Touga. He would find his own way out.

Touga caught up
with him at the door to the corridor, his touch on Saionji's
black-sleeved arm light. "I've made you uncomfortable. Forgive me."

"Never
mind." Saionji's voice was low and far too raw, and he fought the urge
to clear his throat. "I'm just - not quite myself tonight."

"You're beautiful," Touga murmured, and Saionji froze, his
hand tightening on the door-handle.

The
all but inaudible catch in Touga's voice, the arrested look in his eyes
- even the hesitation before he moved forward to stand too close once
again. It was masterfully done.

"Please stay."

Saionji said
nothing. He should go. Instead, he let Touga tug his hand away from the
handle to interlace their fingers, turning him skillfully with a gentle
pull. Slowly, Touga raised his free hand to Saionji's face, trailing
the lightest of touches along the line of his jaw and down the side of
his neck. The shiver that rose at the caress was impossible to
suppress.

Touga slowly brushed his hand through Saionji's hair,
tugging gently, holding a handful up and letting the green strands run
through his fingers.

"Lovely," he murmured, his voice deep and husky. "Exquisite,
extraordinary, like silk to the touch..."

Saionji
shook himself mentally and looked down, deliberately breaking the hold
of his friend's gaze on his. "It's green and wavy. So?" It came out
more belligerent than he'd intended, but he decided that was a good
thing.

Not that it made a difference. Touga laughed a laugh low
and intimate enough to bring a flush to Saionji's face. The laugh was
familiar, as was the hypnotic gaze, the languid movements and intense
focus. He knew what Touga was doing. It was all so familiar, but...
not. Not like this. Not directed at Saionji.

"It's glorious,
like all of you," Touga murmured, and his body was suddenly touching
Saionji's from knee to chest, one knee gently nudging between his own.
"How can you not know how breathtaking you are, Sayuri?"

The false name brought a sorely-needed measure of sanity back;
Saionji rallied somewhat. "Touga, I -"

And
that was as far as he got before Touga's mouth descended, muffling the
rest of his sentence. Dimly, Saionji recognized the strategy - cut off
the protest before it could be fully voiced, prevent her from speaking
her doubts and use the time thus won to get her so fired up she forgets
what she was going to say, forgets any reservations or injunctions she
might have had, forgets everything but...

This.

"Touga,"
he murmured helplessly as his friend's lips moved lightly over his
cheekbone on the way to his ear. How did he know how to do this, how to
nibble on Saionji's lobe just the right side of pain, how to lip and
suck and bite the sensitive skin behind Saionji's ear and move down the
exquisitely tingling skin at the side of his neck - "Touga..."

"Mmmm," Touga rumbled, and Saionji could feel the vibration
against the base of his throat.

Touga's
thigh had insinuated itself far deeper between Saionji's legs than he
had realized. He only noticed this development when Touga shifted
position again, grasping Saionji's hips with both hands and pulling him
forward. A hard, muscled thigh was pressing right up against Saionji's
sex, moving very subtly, but with an unmistakable rhythm. The black
dress's slit skirt had fallen open around Touga's leg in the front and
was brushing Saionji's calves in the back, moving in counterpoint to
the subtle rhythm Touga was setting. He could feel the heat of Touga's
body through the thin cotton barrier of his underwear; the fabric of
his friend's pants was chafing his inner thighs slightly as Touga
moved.

Delicious pressure shuddered through Saionji like a slow
explosion, making him gasp and jerk in surprise. Touga chuckled again,
and his blue eyes were burning into Saionji's with the heavy-lidded
heat of sheer lust. Saionji could hear the triumphant "Got you!" just
as clearly as though the other man had shouted it out loud.

The
small part of Saionji that was still coherent enough wondered at the
forcefulness of Touga's seduction. Considering that until Touga's teeth
had set into his throat just now, he'd truly thought he would get out
of here without - this -

Another tug at his hips, and this time
he followed Touga's directions willingly, eagerly even, leaning back at
a different angle. Touga shifted his stance, moved in even closer and
pressed up harder, and *yes*, right there, right *there*, this was
good, this was very good, and Saionji pulled the dress up further, took
hold of Touga's buttocks and pulled him in tight against his body,
driving down against the next little thrust of Touga's thigh against
the throbbing need between his legs, rubbing himself against muscled
hardness. So strange to feel it like this, so strange and so delicious,
and that it was Touga moving between his legs, Touga leaning forward to
devour his mouth, Touga's hand gently kneading his strangely full
breast, thumbing the nipple through several layers of cloth... Touga
running a light hand down the side of his neck, tracing his collarbone,
following the line of his sternum downwards and sliding smoothly into
the dress.

Saionji moaned helplessly into Touga's mouth as an
expert hand cupped his naked flesh, content to hold it only briefly
before skilled fingertips began teasing at the nipple, sending sparks
of surprised pleasure racing straight to Saionji's sex. How strange...
how wonderful. He arched forward into the hand and drove himself down
onto the thigh, and when Touga withdrew a second later, he followed
blindly, snarling in protest.

"So hot," Touga whispered. "You are so gorgeous, so delicious,
so eager..."

A
deft arm slid around his waist and tugged him away from the door.
Saionji found himself gathered in a crushing embrace, plastered to
Touga for a searing, but brief kiss. Touga's tongue claimed his mouth
with complete certainty of its welcome, delving deep as his hands
lifted Saionji almost entirely off his feet and pressed him into the
unmistakable bulge that lay against Touga's leg.

And God, it
was strange to feel another man's erection pressed against him, almost
as strange as being this fired up with desire and not having an
erection of his own, but this different, deep, throbbing need instead.
Strange and wonderful and - *Touga*.

"Come, my lovely Sayuri."

He followed without protest as Touga led him to the second
room of the suite, the bedroom, dominated by the familiar canopy bed.

Even
now - *especially* now - it was impossible not to see that Touga knew
every movement of this dance inside out, had honed every move to
perfection in countless sexual encounters with countless nameless
girls. In front of the bed, he turned Saionji for another deep and
probing kiss, his hand finding the slit in the skirt unerringly and
sliding up Saionji's leg from mid-thigh. Saionji knew what the next
step in the dance of seduction would be and spread his legs in
anticipation, earning an approving chuckle and a renewed, husky litany
of how responsive and desirable he was. Touga slipped his fingers
beneath the elastic of the panties' leg opening and stroked lightly
over Saionji's sex until Saionji snarled impatiently and pushed against
him in demand.

Touga dipped into his folds gently, massaging and
caressing, and then - slowly, slowly - slid a finger deep inside
Saionji's body. The unfamiliar sensation cleared Saionji's head of some
of the lust-induced fog, but Touga did something with his thumb, teased
and stroked what could only be Saionji's clitoris, and that felt...
beyond incredible.

"You're mine, my beauty," Touga told him. It
was a terrible line, but Saionji didn't care. He moaned and trembled
and shook in his oldest friend's arm, on his hand.

Only moments
later Saionji had been stripped of his dress with practiced ease and
laid back on the rose-colored spread. Touga divested himself of his own
clothes with equal speed and expertise, eyes never leaving Saionji's
body as he undressed.

As an experiment, Saionji stretched a
little, raising his arms above his head to make his breasts protrude
further. Touga's gaze gravitated to his chest with gratifying
promptness, and his fingers sped up in their task of unbuttoning his
shirt. A raised knee immediately drew the hot gaze to the mound of
Saionji's sex. Amused even through his arousal, Saionji spread his legs
invitingly.

Touga's eyes flew to his face, and something he saw
there made him smile, a spark of warmth softening the open desire in
his eyes. "Wanton creature," he murmured, stepping out of his briefs
and walking around to the foot end of the bed.

It was a
challenge, and Saionji met it head-on, arching his back in a cat-like
stretch, spreading his legs a little wider. Touga's gaze lingered for a
long moment. His expression was unreadable as he put a knee on the
mattress between Saionji's ankles.

"Glad to see the color is natural," he purred, leaning forward.

"Can you say the same?" Saionji shot back.

That
surprised a laugh out of him, and he stood back up at the foot of the
bed and struck a pose, throwing his head back and displaying himself.
Saionji abandoned his own posture, propping himself up on his elbows to
get a better view. He had always known his friend was beautiful, but
now, the fact was taking on a new and almost terrifying urgency. Long,
flowing hair the color of fresh blood. Perfectly muscled arms, broad
shoulders, and sculpted pectorals. Washboard stomach, slim hips, the
cock so engorged with blood that it was lying up against the stomach,
growing from a thatch of wine-dark curls. Long, long legs, slim and
elegant and just as well-formed as the rest of him.

He wanted
that, all of it. He could taste Touga's skin on his lips already, could
feel silken skin and heat, sleek perfection beneath his hands, between
his legs, and he *wanted* it.

Wanted Touga, whom he had known
since childhood, whom he had loved and trusted like no other, whose
body he had found aesthetically pleasing, but never before looked on
with desire. It was a concept at once incomprehensible and strangely
inevitable.

"Turn around," Saionji ordered.

Touga raised a sardonic eyebrow and complied, turning
gracefully.

"Your
hair is in the way," Saionji admonished, and Touga cast him a look over
one shoulder before sweeping the long fall of scarlet over one
shoulder, providing an unimpeded view of a broad back tapering to a
slim waist and perfectly rounded, muscular buttocks. Saionji's mouth
was dry as bone, and he had to clear his throat before speaking again.

"Come here, Touga," he commanded huskily.

Touga
obeyed, flexing his muscles with more than his usual graceful economy
of movement as he swung back around. Slowly, deliberately, he let
himself down to the bed between Saionji's legs and prowled forward.
Saionji watched him, their gazes locked in shared desire now mingled
with a trace of challenge.

Saionji had gone down on women, and
he'd enjoyed their stifled gasps and the way they writhed beneath his
steadying hands, the way the small nub of flesh swelled with blood
against the tip of his tongue, the way they cried out when he found
just the right angle and pressure and rhythm. The way their bodies
opened to him, the way they pulsed around his tongue, the way they
pressed their thighs against him in the helpless desire for more... he
knew all of this, knew the things to do to cause it, and yet he was
completely unprepared when Touga did them to him.

"Touga!"

"Hrrrrmmmm,"
hummed Touga, sounding amused. He pulled back to lick slowly,
unhurriedly along the folds of Saionji's sex, lapping up his juices,
ignoring the sobbing moans Saionji could hear himself making. After
what felt like an eternity, his mouth finally returned to the center of
the pulse of pleasure spreading from Saionji's groin through his entire
body.

"Oh."

Oh *yes*. Touga was so good at this, damn him, he knew exactly
when to suck and when to lick and when to -

The
finger finding its way back into him caught Saionji by surprise; he
wondered almost stupidly at the sensation of being penetrated, gasping
to the movements of Touga's mouth, unintentionally driving himself onto
Touga's finger when he moved to heighten the stimulation from the
tormenting tongue and lips. Strange, the sensation of something inside
him, Touga, Touga inside him, Touga's mouth between his legs, beautiful
Touga, beloved Touga...

"Now."

He had never heard this
particular tone in Touga's voice; he would have remembered. Rough and
dark and urgent, harsh with command, lust, need...

The mouth that
had lifted to deliver the command descended once again, and abruptly,
it was too much. Sensation spilled over and ignited, ripping through
his body in a flash of torrential pleasure that tore a harsh cry from
his throat, arched his spine off the bed and made his thighs clench
around Touga's head.

Touga. Beautiful Touga, who extricated
himself gently and moved up his body to lick and nip his breasts and
kiss his lips when every nerve in Saionji's body was still thrumming in
joy, every cell saturated with pleasure. Touga who was fondling his
breast, Touga who was the best at everything he did, beloved Touga...

The
sudden sharp, stabbing pain inside of him was unexpected and unwelcome.
It chased away the lingering tingle of orgasm and replaced it with
something harsh and ugly, and Saionji stiffened and snarled and opened
his eyes to Touga's shocked expression.

"Sayuri," he rasped in
his new voice, rough velvet the color of night. "You should have told
me. I would have been more careful."

The idea was so grotesque that it took Touga's remark to make
him realize what the hell was wrong.

Touga's
expression turned guarded at Saionji's involuntary bark of incredulous
laughter, and he cast about for the right thing to say, something that
would bring the untempered glow of lust back into the other man's eyes.

"It never occurred to me," he finally said. It was the truth,
and his friend could make of it whatever suited him best. "It doesn't
hurt much - just caught me off guard. Don't stop."

This wasn't
completely true, but it seemed to satisfy Touga, who began to move in
long, slow thrusts, his breathing controlled and even, his face set in
concentration. It hurt a great deal, but Saionji was prepared now and
concealed the pain behind a mask of pleasure.

After a minute,
Saionji ran his hands up Touga's back into his hair and pulled his head
down firmly. The kiss was slow and deep and intense, tongues tangling,
sucking and thrusting deep in blatant counterpoint to the movement of
Touga's hips. By the time Touga reared back and parted their mouths,
settling into a fractionally more demanding rhythm, the pain of his
initial penetration had faded to a sharp but bearable discomfort that
could be ignored in the face of the tumbling bevy of sensations rushing
in from other parts of him.

Touga was biting down his neck,
starting at that spot behind his ear and working his way down, stopping
to suck and nibble. Sparks of pleasure shot straight from his friend's
nibbling to Saionji's groin, and he arched his head back to expose as
much of the sensitive skin as possible to Touga's touch. Silken hair
slid beneath his fingers, a curtain of red sheeting forward to enclose
the two of them in a private universe of hazed sensual pleasure.

Saionji grinned and repeated the caress, running his
hands over Touga's lower back and down, lingering on the working
buttocks briefly, sliding one hand between the other man's legs as far
as he could reach to stroke hot, taut skin with the very tips of his
fingers.

Another uncontrolled thrust, driving Touga's cock deep
into Saionji's body. It was beyond strange, being filled this way,
being crushed to the bed by Touga's weight, feeling Touga's body
between his thighs, pumping into him, burning blue gaze locked hungrily
on his face, his body. More than strange, and better than he could ever
have imagined.

Touga slowed his rhythm and his breathing,
tossing his head to get the hair out of his face. Saionji reached up
and brushed the fiery mass back over Touga's shoulder, twisting it in a
fist at the back of his neck, pulling him down into yet another kiss,
open-mouthed, wet and wild.

"You feel good," Saionji gasped
when they broke apart for breath, surprised at how true that was. As an
experiment, he set his feet to the bed and lifted himself into Touga's
next stroke, feeling him slide impossibly deeper. The friction and
thick, heated slide of his cock as it was withdrawn and pushed in again
to fill Saionji once more had begun to send excited ripples coursing
through him. It wasn't enough, he needed more, and on Touga's next
downstroke, he wrapped both legs around his lover's waist and pulled
him in as deep as he could, both hands clenched on the other man's
buttocks.

He relaxed his hold to allow Touga to move back and
arched into him as he thrust home, devouring him, pressing him in
deeper, deeper still... Still not enough, but close, the pressure was
building and the subtle ripples of excitement had turned into heavy
throbs that made him gasp and clutch Touga's body and bite down hard on
his shoulder -

"Slow - down -"

*No.* He didn't want to
slow down, he wanted Touga deeper, and faster, and harder, like that,
just like that - still not quite enough; he clenched himself around
Touga's shaft to increase the sensation, and Touga shuddered and gasped
and grabbed his hips, pushing in harder, faster. He uncoiled his legs
from around his lover and braced his feet against the sheets again,
lifting up to meet him, harder, yes, deeper, yes, more...

Scarlet
hair in his face. Saionji pried a hand loose from a clenching buttock
and reached up to lay his arm over Touga's back and pull him down,
crush him to his body so that smooth, hot skin rubbed over his breasts,
nipples sensitized to the point of pain; so they were plastered
together from groin to neck, parting and slapping together in the quick
rhythm of Touga's increasingly urgent thrusts.

Come on, come *on*, damn you, come *on* Touga, again, again,
again...

It
was desperate and frantic and he was crying out with each hard thrust
that seated Touga deliciously deep in his body, hoarse and
inarticulate, his voice drowned out by Touga's harsh breathing and the
rhythmic moans sounding right next to his ear. Saionji felt it coming,
felt it build inside like a wave, carrying him up and up in a helpless,
drawn-out rush that made him moan and shudder in despair, and then
breaking with the force of a storm tide, smashing him to sparkling
fragments, tearing him apart and rebuilding him in the same instant,
drowning him in an electric blaze of pleasure.

Touga was
lifting up above him in sweat-sheened perfection, tangled hair glued to
his neck and chest and shoulders, a long strand of green twining about
one arm. Saionji cried out in surprise and delight as he thrust with
brute force, bereft now of rhythm, humping urgently, almost
desperately. Once more, and a shiver ran through Saionji's lax body,
forcing his spine into a tense bow and sparking echoes of fire along
every sensitized nerve ending. And again, another wave building,
quicker this time, fire cresting and pulling him down in a confused
conflagration of heat, motion and sheer sensation.

Far away, he
heard Touga cry out, and he was dimly aware of his body being impaled
so forcefully it was lifted off the bed, once, twice, again, and then a
hard, delicious jolt deep inside as liquid warmth filled him.

Heavy,
heated, unmoving weight pressing his limp form into the mattress. A
spill of damp hair lying across his face, tickling his nose. Touga.

Saionji sighed contentedly and nuzzled his face into the other
man's neck. He was with Touga. For the first time since childhood, all
was right with the world.

***

"Sayuri."

Sudden brightness fell into his eyes and he turned his face
into the pillow, murmuring protest.

The
bed shifted. Saionji hummed pleased assent and turned his face back
into the light to be kissed, breathing in the mingled scent of Touga
and sex.

No kiss was forthcoming. Instead, the mattress
suddenly tilted beneath him, sending him tumbling to the floor tangled
in sheets, heart racing, his own hair in his mouth.

"Damn you, what's the idea?" he snarled.

Touga
was dressed already, impeccably groomed, hair shining and falling down
his back in the usual smooth waterfall. Sun sparkled and caught on his
uniform's gold trim as he turned, copper highlights glinting in his
hair. He was already out the door when he turned to smile an edged,
sarcastic little smile, pausing momentarily to slant a mocking glance
at Saionji over one shoulder. "You'll be late for class."

And he was gone.

You had to say one thing for Touga... He certainly didn't
leave you guessing. Crystal clear.

Saionji
pushed his hair off his face, untangled himself from the bedding, and
went to take a quick shower before hurrying back to Ohtori to change
into a school uniform. He didn't take any particular care not to be
noticed, although he didn't see anyone on his way to his room, either.
He wasn't the first this had happened to, and he wouldn't be the last.

There
was no time to wash his hair, but once he'd gotten the snags out and
tied it back into a loose ponytail, it didn't look too bad.

It
wasn't difficult to see this from Touga's perspective, and by the time
first period was through and he was headed towards the next class room
for the daily math lesson, Saionji had settled the matter in his mind.
He'd never mistaken Touga's attentions for anything but what they were;
he knew him far too well.

No doubt he'd now ruined any hope
there'd been of regaining a measure of closeness to his friend, but the
truth was that his chances had been all but non-existent from the start
- at least in this body. Touga did not have female friends. He had
admirers, and projects, and old rivals...

Perhaps he should
have resisted the temptation to spend time with his old friend in any
way, simply to avoid getting into just this situation, but he hadn't,
and that was that. Touga had tumbled one more girl in a long row of
girls, and there was nothing to distinguish the encounter from the one
before it or the one that would come after. Saionji might have been
making love to his best friend, but Touga had been fucking a stranger.
It would have been hypocritical to lay the blame of the mess Saionji
had made of things at Touga's door. Touga had merely been himself...
something which could not be said of Saionji by any stretch of the
imagination.

So. Sign it. File it. Put it in a box marked done.

Third
period brought a surprise test in chemistry, and Saionji was the only
student in the classroom who didn't groan in protest when the teacher
reached into her briefcase and brought out the tell-tale sheaf of
paper. He welcomed the chance to lose himself in the clean, logical
world of molecular structure and the principles governing the most
elemental interactions of all. Some things, at least, would never
change. The laws governing the existence of everything and everyone
were, at the most basic level, constant and logical, and Saionji found
it an oddly comforting thought. No matter how incomprehensible, tangled
and, yes, frightening his own circumstances were, on a different level
everything was still basically the same, the same rules still governed,
the same bonds held fast or dissolved as the laws governing them
decreed.

Not eternal... But constant, logical, and - given the
necessary information - predictable. Far more lasting than the feeble
and fragile bonds human beings formed.

4. ~
Love ~

After lunch, Saionji went to the greenhouse to see Anthy, and
again, she wasn't there.

He didn't understand it - she had always spent hours every day
in the greenhouse, watering and pruning the roses, making certain they
prospered. Where the hell was she? He knew her schedule by heart, and
at this time, she should have been here.

In the hopes that
Anthy was merely running late, Saionji let himself into the glass dome
and wandered around, growing increasingly irritated as she failed to
appear. When he attempted to entertain himself by prowling into the
more inaccessible corners of the greenhouse, he tripped over some empty
planters and half fell into a bed of scarlet roses, damp soil squishing
beneath one outflung palm and thorns lodging painfully in his flesh.

It
was the undignified sight of Saionji struggling to detach himself from
the brambles - and not taking particular care not to harm the damned
things, either - that met her eyes when she came at last. Her presence
unfurled and swelled in Saionji's being like a rosebud opening to the
sun, fearsome and uncontrollable and incomprehensible, making his heart
leap and his chest ache, the familiar surge of passionate and
incomprehensible emotion rising. At last. At last, after so long...

Anthy. Anthy. Himemiya -

"Well, well. What have we here?"

For
a long, surreal moment, Saionji stared at the man before him and could
only think that the same thing that had happened to him had happened to
Anthy. He *felt* her, he knew she was near, and yet the only one here
with him - in the greenhouse that was Anthy's - was a complete
stranger.

A strange expression flitted across the man's face so
briefly Saionji could not be certain he had not imagined it altogether.
It had looked like surprise, closely chased by... amusement?

Haughtily,
Saionji lifted his chin and surveyed the stranger from head to toe.
Much too tall to be Anthy, and in no way resembling her except for the
delicate cafe-au-lait tint of his complexion. His face was far too
thin, the shape of his head entirely wrong, the nose too sharp and
prominent and entirely lacking the sweet tip-tilted quality of Anthy's.
The narrowed grey eyes had nothing in common with Anthy's wide, opaque
green gaze - not to mention that his hair was platinum blond and tied
back in a shaggy ponytail, forming the greatest imaginable contrast to
Anthy's beautiful, gleaming dark tresses.

"Who the hell are you?" Saionji demanded, his tone rimed with
frost. *And what are you doing in my Anthy's greenhouse?*

The man wasn't wearing a rose signet, so he couldn't be a new
duelist.

One
pale eyebrow shot up. "I might ask you the same question, young lady,
considering that I came across you destroying the flowers my sister has
toiled so hard to raise."

"Himemiya Anthy is your sister?"

"I have that honor." He held out a hand, flashing a sudden
smile. "Ohtori Akio, at your service."

Ohtori Akio, the Dean of Students and Acting Chairman of
Ohtori Academy? Wonderful.

Painfully
aware of his less than immaculate attire and less than gracious
behavior, Saionji shook some traces of soil from his fingers before
taking the trustee chairman's hand. Ohtori's grip was warm and firm,
and he held the contact for a fraction of a second too long.

"Yoshitoyo Sayuri."

"I
am pleased to make your acquaintance." The brilliant smile was now
echoed by a spark of warmth in his eyes. "I have heard many good things
about you - the entire kendo club has been speaking of nothing but you
lately. Perhaps you will soon be bringing glory to our school as part
of one of our teams?"

Saionji inclined his head gracefully. "I am gratified that
Iwamoto-san has seen fit to notice my modest skills."

"She
is not the only one." The chairman's eyes drifted downward slightly and
a frown creased his brow. "Allow me - you have a thorn caught in your
uniform."

His touch was light as thistledown as he plucked a
fragment of rose twig from Saionji's shoulder, but he could feel the
light contact burn through the sturdy cotton of his uniform and lodge
deep in his gut with the sear of corrosive acid.

What the hell...?

The chairman's touch lingered on his shoulder for longer than
seemed necessary.

Even
though the hand was now gone from his shoulder, Saionji could still
feel the heavy burning of the touch sear through his nerves, pooling in
his stomach, prickling over his skin.

"If you would allow
me...?" Ohtori gently lifted a large handful of Saionji's curls in one
hand, bringing them closer to his face as though to examine the
structure, for whatever purpose. The ponytail must have opened when he
fell into the roses, though he hadn't noticed it before. Saionji was
having trouble thinking properly, and his breathing was beginning to
rasp in his throat. It all felt strange, everything felt wrong, but
even so, it was unmistakably arousal. If everything had been as it
should, he would have had an erection impossible to hide, just as he'd
often had when Anthy had been nearby.

"Remarkable indeed."
Ohtori weighed the mass of curls in his palm and let a few strands
escape to drift over and through his long fingers. The gesture was
hauntingly familiar.

"Sayuri."

Saionji jerked as though
shot. Ohtori bent forward and smiled into his eyes, and before
releasing the handful of hair he still held, his thumb swept over it in
a strangely intimate caress. It was the gesture of a lover, and Saionji
could not understand why this stranger thought he had the right to
offer it to him when they'd barely exchanged two sentences. He could
understand even less why Saionji was allowing it, and why it made his
mouth go dry.

Touga came into view behind Akio's shoulder, cool and
collected as always. "Here you are - I've been looking for you."

Saionji
barely registered the small smile Touga gave him. Ohtori's presence was
singing in his blood like a thousand sirens, and Saionji was trying to
remember why that particular gesture seemed so wrenchingly familiar.

He
did register the arm Touga tried to slip around his waist. He batted
the encroaching limb away with an impatient glower. "What do you want?"

Ohtori
Akio. Living dawn. Born of flame. Burning like fire in Saionji's blood.
Smiling into his eyes with the same expression that lurked in Kozue's
bold stares, the same expression that Touga had worn not so very long
ago.

"Kiryuu Touga," Ohtori was saying. "What a pleasure to run
into you so unexpectedly."

Predatory.

"Were you looking for me, Chairman Ohtori?"

The
numb astonishment receded slightly and Saionji had to suppress a
mocking bark of laughter at the hint of coldness that was threaded
through Touga's manner. How absurd. Touga had been going to give him
his cell phone number and a brush-off that sounded like a promise, and
when he'd found someone else making a play, he'd decided he wanted to
bed his latest conquest once more, after all... just to bring it home
to everyone that if anyone was going to do the dumping, it was going to
be Touga.

Too bad for him, then.

*No.* Wait. He'd come
here looking for Himemiya Anthy, not Ohtori Akio. He was looking for
Anthy, and he wasn't looking to get laid by a different guy each night.
His experience with Touga had been disturbing enough to last him for a
long time, and he *knew* Touga - Touga was more familiar than Saionji's
own reflection these days. Why the hell was Saionji behaving like an
idiot empty-headed chit like Wakaba? Just because Ohtori was - somehow
like Anthy, and - when Anthy was around Saionji felt -

"Excuse me for a moment, Chairman. Sayuri, might I have a
word...?"

Instead
of stepping back to let Saionji pass, Ohtori steered him past with a
light touch at the small of his back while Touga gave them both a
benign smile. Only someone who knew Touga as well as Saionji did - and
there wasn't anyone who did - would have been able to see that not only
was he not looking on with equinamity and good will, but he was
probably picturing scenes of elaborate carnage in his head. Touga was a
petty bastard underneath that cool and polished surface.

"I have
tickets for the opera tonight," Touga said pleasantly once they'd
stepped out of the dome and the glass door had fallen shut behind them.
"Would you like to accompany me?"

Saionji looked at him for a
long moment. He was willing to bet that Touga didn't have tickets; he
was making this up on the spur of the moment, relying on his
connections and his father's name to get the tickets at the last minute.

It
wasn't that simple, of course; Touga was up to the challenge. He
laughed a little and smiled a quirky, rueful smile that must have taken
him hours to perfect. "You want to know the truth? I don't like the
opera either."

Saionji wasn't in the mood for this. He crossed
his arms tightly in front of his chest. "Just say what you want to say
and be done with it."

That sobered Touga. He gave Saionji a
long, searching look and tried to take his hand, of all the stupid
things. Saionji growled and batted it aside with more force than
strictly necessary. "What's wrong, Sayuri?"

"I will not play these stupid games," Saionji bit out. "Don't
invite me to the opera when you just want to have sex."

Touga's
eyes widened slightly, but he caught himself almost immediately, giving
Saionji an amused and more than slightly conspiratorial grin. "You
really are a remarkable young woman."

Saionji snorted in disgust.
There he went again, gearing up for another try, from another angle
this time. He didn't even need to watch the glint in Touga's eye to
know what the next words out of his mouth would be. In some things,
Touga was utterly predictable.

"Would you like to have sex with
me tonight?" Touga asked pleasantly, his tone the same as when he'd
asked Saionji out to the opera.

The grin Saionji gave him in return bared more teeth than it
should have. "No."

Touga's
pride in his sexual prowess had always been ridiculously inflated, and
Saionji could see that his arrow had hit the mark in the barely
noticeable narrowing of his eyes, a mere split second before Touga
threw back his head and laughed.

Oh, great. He was presenting a
challenge - that was like waving a red cloth in front of a bull. It
seemed that now the suggestion of a rival had rekindled Touga's waning
interest, the only thing that would put him off would be if Saionji
were to give in, sleep with him again, and perhaps fall hopelessly in
love. *That* would get rid of him quickly enough. Saionji certainly
wasn't going to go to those particular lengths, though. That he'd slept
with Touga once had been bad enough; the last thing he needed was to
compound the error.

But, possibly, if he handled it just right...

Saionji's
eyes narrowed as he assembled a strategy on the spur of the moment,
flinging out the opening attack in a voice halfway between belligerent
and willing to be convinced. "Did you come here to find me?"

"Of
course." Touga stepped into the perceived opening with a hopeful little
smile that would certainly have fooled Saionji, if he hadn't known
Touga for almost as long as he could remember. Although, way back when,
he had never smiled like that unless he meant it. *Come on, Kyouichi,
we can do our homework later, the sun is shining and our neighbors' cat
had her kittens yesterday...*

He shook his head slightly to
dispel the memory. Neither of them was the same now. "I see. Then
you'll want to give me your cell phone number, won't you?"

Touga
flicked him a curious gaze, but seemed no more than slightly surprised.
Not that this was necessarily an indication of his true feelings on the
matter. "Certainly - a good idea, really. Do you have something to
write it down? It's -"

A hit. Touga's expression of slight surprise gave way to
absolute unreadability; a very good sign.

"I'm
sure I can call you any time, and that you'll be there for me whenever
I need you. Always. Right?" It came out far more bitingly than he'd
intended, but judging by the granite stillness of Touga's face, it
didn't matter.

So far, Saionji's impromptu strategy had been a
full success. The opponent had been taken off guard, led to overreach
himself and give Saionji an open line of attack - now, all that
remained was the killing stroke.

"My -" And that's where it all
went wrong, because the tone was entirely wrong, and Saionji had to
swallow back the remaining word before he could ruin everything. Touga
was watching him with a predator's intensity, waiting for any sign of
weakness, and the angry victory Saionji had imagined already in his
grasp was snatched away in a wave of bitter resentment.

*Fucking
bastard,* he thought, but didn't say - in part because it would have
been idiotic to ruin his careful set-up with such an ineffective
attack, but also because it wasn't that simple. This situation was as
much, if not more, his doing as Touga's.

It had to be enough;
staring into his friend's guarded blue gaze, Saionji couldn't think of
a thing to say. He chose the next best course of action: retreat.

Touga
didn't follow, and perhaps Saionji had done enough to make himself seem
like someone to be avoided rather than a challenge.

*My hero.*

As if.

5. ~
Adoration ~

From one moment to the next, the breath left Saionji's lungs
in a rush and he almost doubled over, every nerve going up in flames.
The sensation of indefinable pressure in the air surrounding him
thickened to the point where he was hard pressed to breathe because of
the weight crushing down on him from all sides, echoed by an equal
force pushing from the inside out, threatening to tear him open.

One eternal moment passed, then the throb of presence abated
enough to let Saionji breathe. It was then that he recognized it for
what it was - the familiar rush of elation, tangled emotion and
merciless passion that had always overcome him in Anthy's presence, but
magnified a hundredfold. He couldn't distinguish between the separate
impulses of desire, terror and desperate, raging need - it was all
mingled into one painful spear of too-intense sensation.

And,
for the first time, he realized that this, whatever it was, was not
his. He felt it when he was near Anthy, but it *wasn't his*. It came
from outside -

Straightening up with one arm folded
protectively over his stomach, Saionji met Anthy's eyes. The look she
gave him struck like a physical blow, a bludgeon of undiluted,
screaming power/sensation/emotion; he stumbled into the wall and gasped
for air, chest heaving. When he looked down, he discovered that
somehow, impossibly, there was a deep and gaping sword wound in his
chest.

Absurd, patently ridiculous - preposterous -

He would have noticed. How could he possibly have failed to
notice?

Anthy
spoke his name, and the sound of her voice rang out clear and sharp and
unbearable as a bronze bell, grating on his soul like iron claws on raw
flesh. He wanted to scream and beg her not to look at him, not to speak
to him, not to - do this...

Hot blood ran across his hand, escaping between the fingers
he'd pressed against the impossible wound.

Don't touch me, he wanted to say, not even knowing why. Stay
away from me.

He
could not look away from her, bound fast by a kind of horrible
fascination as she came closer, the graceful turn of her ankle without
equal, every line of her body exquisite. Her dainty slipper crunched on
brittle bones; her step was steady and sure in the rivers of gore she
walked in. Her shape was backlit with the light of a thousand fires,
raging in a thousand wars.

Saionji-sempai.

Her voice was gentle and sweet and overlaid with the voices of
a thousand souls screaming in mindless rage and mortal agony.

Don't worry.

Her
sweet, familiar smile was rife with hidden menace; the brief flash of
light glancing off her glasses as she tucked her chin demurely was a
spark of the inferno raging behind her, dogging her steps, licking at
her slender ankles like an obedient dog. Her hair had come loose and
was fanning out behind her like the ermine cape of an empress, borne
aloft by the updraft.

Saionji was losing his mind. He closed
his eyes, but it didn't help - on the contrary, vertigo immediately
assaulted him with such force that he didn't know whether he was still
sagging against the wall, or falling, or lying sprawled on the ground.
Nausea rose with almost irresistible power, and opening his eyes again
didn't do much to abate it.

He didn't want to see the creature that Anthy had become,
didn't want to look at her terrible smile...

He turned to look at Touga.

Dull
red, sullen flame. Bright silver gleam of teeth and claws, the
graceful, lazy coil of supple muscle. Touga was gone; where he had
been, the uncertain, brooding light of the fire glanced off a sinuous
twist of body cloaked in shimmering scales. The eyes were the same,
impossibly blue and piercing. Cruel. Coldly amused.

"No," Saionji gasped, choking immediately on the surge of
liquid that welled up in his mouth. "*No*. Touga -"

He
would have thought the low rasp of his voice too weak to be heard,
particularly to the backdrop of the thousand voices screaming their
anger and pain. As soon as he had spoken his friend's name, though, a
small shape stirred, dwarfed between the armored paws of the beast
coiling in Touga's place. The dragon uncurled slightly, one paw moving
to draw the diminutive body closer to its chest. Hair the color of
arterial blood spilled over the floor, the color vivid against the
white marble.

"*Touga*!" It was a scream now, harsh and tearing
and bubbling with blood. He wanted to move, but couldn't. He wanted to
help Touga, but when he tried to straighten up, the trickle of liquid
warmth running between his fingers increased to a gush and his legs
gave way underneath him, dumping him to the cold floor. There was a
sickening scent of incense in the air... Incense, roses and decay.

Don't worry, the terrible voice crooned, right next to his
ear. This is how it has to be.

No! he screamed, voice gone now, drowning in gore.

You didn't think *all* boys could be princes, did you?

***

When Saionji was younger, there had been a
stretch of several months in which he regularly woke up in the middle
of the night to vomit. His mother had soon grown worried and took him
to several doctors, none of whom had anything pertinent to say, and so
Saionji had trained himself to wake up at the first onset of nausea. It
didn't prevent him from throwing up, but it did give him enough time to
reach the bathroom first. If he cleaned up after himself and opened the
window until morning, no one noticed. He had known doctors wouldn't be
able to help. He hadn't been sick, he'd merely been having bad dreams,
and he didn't feel like talking about them.

It had been a long time since he'd last had one of these
dreams, and Anthy had never before been in them.

***

Whatever Saionji had expected from the urgent storm
of knocking at his door, it wasn't Wakaba, eyes swimming in tears and a
hectic flush staining her cheeks. Before he'd had a chance to process
her appearance, she'd already launched herself forward and seized his
middle in a frantic grip, burying her face against his neck. In the
first instant, Saionji was too startled to give her the scathing
set-back this sort of behavior deserved; he'd just begun to draw in
breath to deliver it when he realized that Wakaba was trembling with
suppressed sobs and something very like true desperation.

Standing
in an open door with a distraught girl clutching him was a situation
Saionji had no experience with whatsoever. The impulse to lash out had
passed when he realized her unfeigned distress, but that left him with
no viable route of action at all.

After an eternal moment of
sheer embarrassment, he lifted a hand to gingerly pat the silly chit's
back. It was evidently an acceptable response, because Wakaba shuddered
and seemed to straighten a bit. Saionji patted her again with more
resolve, and after another moment, she pulled away and relaxed her
death-grip on him in favor of wiping at her face as surreptitiously as
possible under the circumstances.

"You have to come," she said
when she looked up to meet his gaze. Her face was pale beneath the
feverish spots of color, and there was something hard and entirely
unfamiliar in her expression. A spark of mingled anger and
determination, perhaps; something deep and immovable. Implacable, even.
"Something's terribly wrong, Utena's all wrong, she's wearing the wrong
uniform, I mean, it's the right one, but for her it's wrong because she
never wore the right one in the first place, and that's not the worst
thing, she's all *strange* and not the usual Utena at all, she's so sad
and she won't even talk to me and she told me to leave her alone and I
didn't understand but I *do* understand, not the details and everything
but I *do*, she's -"

"Slow down!" Saionji snapped. She didn't
seem to hear him. "Wakaba, stop!" This time, he emphasized the command
by shaking her shoulder, and she finally wound to a stop.

Even
through the sheen of unshed tears, it was impossible to miss the
incomprehensible gleam of adoration. It had always been there when she
looked at him, and he was beginning to despair of it ever fading. It
still made him as uncomfortable as ever. He let go of her rather
hurriedly and stepped back.

"So. Tenjou's acting strangely and you're upset about it."

Wakaba
nodded vehemently, eyes huge and ridiculously trusting. For an
incredulous moment, Saionji thought she'd hurl herself at him again.
Only a firm reminder of his own dignity prevented him from retreating
further.

"And why -" *Why the hell are you bothering me of all people
with Tenjou's troubles?*

Saionji
swallowed heavily. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to say it, not
with Wakaba hanging on his every word like an adoring puppy and clearly
expecting him to solve all the troubles of the world with a wave of his
hand.

"What makes you think it's anything to worry about?" As
far as he could tell, girls always acted strangely. Hell, so did boys,
for that matter. It was practically mandatory. Saionji himself had been
too sensible to succumb, but he'd watched nearly everyone around him
turn into a sullen or hyper or erratic stranger at one point or
another, even -

But that really was another topic entirely, and
Wakaba had already launched into an account of her friend's troubles,
real or imagined.

"She didn't come to school, and when I came
to see if she was sick she was - *that* way, all sad and quiet, and she
wouldn't tell me what was wrong, but her school uniform was ripped and
she didn't want me to repair it. She says she's always going to wear
the girls' uniform from now on because it's *normal*, she kept saying
she has to act *normal*, like something was wrong with the way she
*is*, and she's *not* acting normal! She's not herself at all, and then
when Touga was all over her, she didn't even *say* anything, she just
*let* him -"

"Touga?"

Wakaba stopped and looked at him
strangely for a moment before going on. "Yes, he asked her out for
dinner on Sunday, and I know you like him but he was, it was like he
thought he had a right to *touch* her, it was - and she wouldn't do
anything, even though I could tell she didn't like it, she just *sat*
there! And then she - I told Himemiya-san it was her fault for fighting
with my Utena, and Utena - Utena hit me, and -"

Saionji lost
track of Wakaba's rambling speech at this surprising pronouncement. Now
that he was alerted to it, he could see that one of her cheeks was
reddened by more than distress; to his surprise, a small, but burning
dart of anger lodged in his chest at the thought of Tenjou striking out
at someone as defenseless as Wakaba, who - even if she had probably
been intensely annoying - had only been trying to help.

"It's all
right," Wakaba said quietly. "She didn't mean it. She's not herself,
you know, she's so upset. I was even a little relieved because it was
the first sign of spirit she's shown all day. Besides..." She grinned.
"I hit her back just as hard, so we're even."

"You don't -" He
didn't know what he was going to say, so he stopped mid-sentence,
feeling vaguely disquieted. He didn't like to think of anyone hitting
Wakaba, who was trying, but harmless and well-meaning.

He'd hit
Anthy, back when she was his Rose Bride. He'd hit her more than once,
and when he thought back and tried to remember *why*, the only thing he
could recall was the roiling anger that had coiled in his gut, the
blinding burst of pain and despair and rage... but try as he might, he
could not remember the reasons for it. Anthy couldn't have made him
that angry, could she? It was impossible to imagine - she was so
gentle, kind and compliant, and even if she *had* defied him, he would
never have -

But he had. He *had*, so obviously he would. But -

Scent of roses, incense and decay. The echoes of footsteps,
slowly dying away.

"It's
Touga's fault," Wakaba was saying, her tone dogged. "It's all the
Student Council President's fault! He's the reason she's not herself. I
don't know exactly what's going on, but that much was obvious - you
should have seen him, he was gloating, almost, like now he finally had
her just where he wanted her. I don't know what he did exactly, but he
did something, he did this to her on purpose. I know you like him,
Sayuri, but -"

Touga had always been bad news for any girl who
let herself be snared by his easy charm and good looks, and he'd been
pursuing the Tenjou chit for a while now. If he'd finally caught up
with her, it was no wonder she was acting strangely. Touga the
chivalrous, crushing girls' dreams underfoot wherever he went.

Evidently,
Wakaba had reached the end of her semi-coherent tale of woe. She was
now looking up at Saionji in silence, clearly waiting for him to take
action of some kind.

"Why are you telling me this, anyway?" Saionji snapped when he
could stand it no longer.

"Because you're my *friend*," Wakaba said. Her look spoke
eloquently of just how silly his question had been.

Another
slow moment passed in silence as Saionji stared at Wakaba, not knowing
what to say. It was true that he'd gained a measure of respect for her
since he'd returned to Ohtori, and that they'd shared a fleeting, but
real moment of companionship in the Kiryuus' gardens... but he would
never have thought of them as friends. It was obvious that Wakaba did,
however. Her wide brown eyes were steady and open on his, and nothing
Saionji knew of her led him to believe that she would pretend to
friendship in order to gain his cooperation.

She was a giddy,
silly chit, but she was sincere and loyal, and she fought for her
friends with a fierceness befitting a true warrior.

Saionji came quietly.

***

They found Tenjou in the main hall, where she'd
curled up on one of the windowsills to stare sightlessly into the
schoolyard. Even if he hadn't been alerted by Wakaba's tale, Saionji
would have noticed that the girl was upset. Her entire body was
drooping, the characteristic vivaciousness wholly absent. And, for the
first time since Saionji had known her, she was clad in the official
Ohtori school uniform for girls. It did not become her.

"You look
ridiculous in that," Saionji snapped by way of opening the
conversation. Wakaba hovered anxiously at his shoulder, and he had to
consciously prevent himself from stepping to the side to restore a
comfortable distance between them.

After a noticeable pause,
Tenjou lifted her head, looking at him with dull eyes. For a moment, he
thought she wouldn't answer him at all, but she surprised him; she
rallied slightly and even mustered the shadow of a glare to direct at
him.

"It's what you wear," the Tenjou chit mumbled, her voice
as flat and lifeless as her eyes. She'd always seemed to be bursting
with energy and life; now, she was diminished, her light damped and
almost extinguished. Saionji had never liked her, but even so it was
hard to look at her now, so much less than she should be. "Why are you
and Wakaba giving me a hard time about it? You wear it, Wakaba wears
it. Every girl at Ohtori wears it. It's normal, isn't it?"

For
some reason, that set Wakaba off. She darted forward to stand in front
of her friend, arms akimbo, indignation bursting from every pore. "No
it's not! It's not normal for you. You're not like every girl at
Ohtori, and this normal isn't normal for you - *your* normal is being
not normal!"

Saionji rolled his eyes at Wakaba's tangled phrasing.

"I was just... posing, I guess. But I wanted..." Tenjou
trailed off listlessly. "My normal... this normal..."

She'd
wanted to help Anthy. Tenjou was a silly, misguided and meddlesome chit
and Saionji had never liked her, but she had more talent than she knew
what to do with, and she had honor. From the beginning, she'd fought
not for herself, but because she wanted to help Anthy.

"What about Anthy?" Saionji asked quietly.

Tenjou's
drifting gaze again lifted slowly to fix on his face. "I thought I was
helping her, but... I guess I was doing the wrong thing all along.
Anthy... Touga will do a much better job."

That was who the
dueling bells had rung out for yesterday, then. Saionji was not
surprised. Touga was the new Champion - and Nanami's prior duel with
Tenjou had evidently been more than merely a random result of Nanami's
jealousy. Saionji hadn't needed to listen to the gossip making the
rounds to find out who'd been the victor in that match. He'd seen
Nanami walk to school, her small flock of sycophants trailing anxiously
in her wake, and he remembered what despair looked like on her face.
She'd worn just that pinched, white-lipped expression whenever Touga
was displeased with her... her adored big brother, who could have
stopped the duel before it happened, because he'd known as well as
Saionji that Nanami would lose.

"He won't." It came out far more
urgently than Saionji had meant it to, and he wasn't surprised that
Tenjou seemed startled. "He's not the right Champion for the Rose Bride
- he never fought for Anthy's sake."

"But you did," Wakaba cut in
vehemently. "You're a Prince, and you're cool when you're being the
real you, and you're normal when you're not being normal, but just
*yourself*. This isn't you, Utena! Something was taken from you - take
it back!"

Saionji narrowed his eyes at the silly Tenjou chit.
Stupid girl, to believe anything Touga told her. "He has you believing
you can't beat him, and as long as you believe it, it's true - but I've
seen both of you fight. You're better, Tenjou."

"Take it back!"
He wasn't certain what it was that got through to her, but something
did. One of them had said the right thing; Saionji could fairly see
resolve flowing back into Tenjou's slumped body. Her posture
straightened, shoulders going back, head lifting; when she looked up at
Wakaba, the familiar sparkle was back in her eye, and when she spoke,
her voice was firm and gained confidence with every word.

"You're
right," she said, beginning slowly, almost as though she were feeling
her way. "Both of you are right. I'm sorry, Wakaba - I shouldn't have
hit you. I haven't been my normal self at all, have I?"

Well, that had been strangely easy.

"I'm going to take it back."

Wonderful.
Saionji had just convinced the Tenjou chit to become Champion once
again. He had little doubt she would suceed, and then he'd be back to
resenting her closeness to Anthy, this time with the added burden of
knowing he himself had helped her get there.

He truly did think
that Tenjou would be the better Champion, though - better than Touga,
at any rate. Touga didn't care for Anthy; he only wanted to use the
Rose Bride for his own plans, and he wouldn't care how she felt about
it. At least Tenjou would watch out for Anthy, try to make sure she was
happy. She wouldn't hurt her. She... wouldn't beat her.

"I'm going to the dojo," he announced brusquely, brushing
Wakaba aside when she tried to hang onto his arm. He didn't feel like
he had achieved a victory, but then, it hadn't been a defeat, either.

6. ~
Conviction ~

It was Touga who didn't come to class the day after the bells
announced that yet another challenge was being fought out beneath the
castle in which eternity dwelled. He didn't come to class the day
after, either. Or the day after that.

***

The Kiryuus' gardener still hadn't cut down the
gnarled old ginko growing next to the estate's eastern wall; its lower
branches were leaning on the top of the barrier still, some curving
into and around the stone familiarly, like a lover's embrace.

He
couldn't remember how long ago he'd last been here, but he had many
memories of the tree, all shading into one another with the soft,
unfocussed blur of time. The motions were still familiar, as well,
though he didn't have to strain nearly as much as he recalled in order
to jump high enough to grasp hold of one of the lower branches and pull
himself up. Even a faint tingle of the old delight returned, rich with
the thrill of transgression, as he searched the surrounding garden for
watchers before climbing on top of the wall itself and dropping down
lightly on the other side.

The garden was deserted, as it had
nearly always been; Touga's parents believed in the value of
representative rose gardens, topiaries and pavilions, but they never
spent time in them except when they served as a setting for the
occasional summer reception. The elder Kiryuus were gone for most of
the year anyway, leaving both house and garden in the care of
employees.

It wasn't difficult to guess where Touga would be.
Unhindered by that stupid dress, scaling the cast iron fence was even
less of a problem than it had been some nights earlier. Saionji hardly
made a sound, and if his weight hadn't made the fence tremble slightly,
he would probably have caught Touga completely by surprise.

As it was, Touga had had time to smooth the startlement from
his expression, if any had been there in the first place.

Touga
stared at him in silence for a long moment before seeming to lose
interest, turning back to standing at the French doors and staring out
into his private section of the garden. It seemed as though he'd been
standing there for some time; there was a look of immobility about him
that made it seem as though he could stay in place indefinitely,
waiting out the seasons, unchanging through budding green and summer
sun and blowing leaves and snow until even the house around him was
gone, leaving him alone as unchanged as a marble statue, pale face
eternally cast into the noble indifference of a long-dead hero.

Saionji
shivered a little at his fanciful thoughts. It was strange, that was
all. Touga would snap out of it soon enough - he was far too vain to go
long without his adoring court around him. Doubtless he'd have come
back to school tomorrow, anyway. There really was no reason for Saionji
to be here, especially considering everything that had happened in the
last couple of weeks, but... but.

This was so unlike Touga.

"Hey,"
he said, refusing to feel awkward. He'd thought about what to say on
his way to the Kiryuus' house, but because there was no reason for him
to be here, he hadn't been able to come up with anything. He'd hoped
something would arise naturally from the situation, but since that
didn't seem to be happening, he would just have to muddle through. "You
haven't been to school all week. I wanted to make sure you were all
right."

Touga wasn't wearing his Student Council uniform. He
didn't look as though he'd been injured in the duel, but - he was not
wearing his uniform. He *always* wore that damned uniform, in school or
out, even when he went out on a date, even on weekends and during
vacation. Saionji had sometimes thought he'd sleep in that uniform, if
not for the fact that it would cause unsightly wrinkles.

"Why aren't you wearing your uniform?" Saionji asked bluntly.

At
first, he thought Touga wouldn't bother to even acknowledge the
question. Even when he did respond, he didn't look at Saionji. "What do
you care?"

His voice was low and quiet, deceptively gentle out of
indifference.

Saionji
was briefly at a loss for words before rallying. "I don't," he shot
back. "It's just that you're being an idiot. This isn't the first match
you've lost. You're not the best kendoka on the planet. In fact, if
this is how you handle losing these days, you're not even a mediocre
one."

That got a reaction, just as Saionji had known it would.
Touga's hand tightened on the gauze curtain, his mouth thinning into a
pale line.

"You understand nothing," he said after a noticeable
interval. There was a definite hint of anger in his tone now, which
Saionji decided to interpret as a good sign. "You don't know what
you're talking about. Go home."

"Oh, I understand perfectly,"
Saionji spat. "Looks like Tenjou's better than you. That's just how it
is - accept it and move on."

"Frankly, Yoshitoyo, it amazes me
that you assume I would be interested in your puerile thoughts on a
matter of which you know absolutely nothing," Touga said, his voice
chill enough to freeze even the warmest aspirations.

Saionji
shook his head and moved closer to his friend, leaning against the
windowpane next to the door. Touga didn't deign to look at him, so
Saionji took the opportunity to study his friend more closely. He
looked coldly angry, and superior, and arrogant... and underneath it
all, he looked frozen - locked into stony impassivity and dangerously
close to shattering. Perhaps shattered already, held together by
nothing more durable than the icy stillness of shock. Saionji had seen
the same expression in the mirror far too often lately not to recognize
it.

"So, tell me about it," Saionji said.

"About what?"

He
snorted in disgust. "What happened to get you in this state. I know it
was Tenjou - I may not know exactly what happened, but the basic facts
are pretty clear. Still, according to you, I have no idea of what's
really going on, so fine. Tell me about it. Prove my theory wrong."

Touga
turned his head to stare at Saionji. Saionji stared back. Touga was too
pale; he looked as though he hadn't slept or eaten in a long time.

"You can't honestly think such an infantile ploy would work
with me."

Saionji shrugged. "Why not? You're acting like a
four-year-old."

Touga was definitely paying attention now. Saionji could
practically see him wrestle with the urge to snap out "Am not!"

"How I act is my own business," he shot back instead, stiffly.
Not that much of a better choice, in Saionji's opinion. "Leave."

"That's not very chivalrous," Saionji said thoughtfully.

Touga said nothing. He didn't have to; his glance spoke for
itself.

It
was absurd, but Saionji found himself bristling at the implication that
he didn't warrant chivalry. Of course he didn't - he wasn't even a
woman. Even so, the intent to insult rankled. He should leave and let
Touga sulk. He shouldn't have come in the first place. He should have...

Touga
let go of the curtain. There was something wrong with the way he moved;
Saionji watched him with narrowed eyes. Something to do with the
stiffness of his shoulders, the uncharacteristic lack of grace.

"No."

Enough
was enough. Saionji was beginning to grow angry. "*Yes.*" Who did Touga
think he was, anyway? It wasn't as though Saionji had nothing better to
do than to run after Touga because the idiot was feeling down after
losing to a girl. The least the bastard could do was stop moping. "I've
had enough of your self-pity and melodramatic posing. If you want to be
Champion that badly, then do something about it. Either accept that
Tenjou is better than you, or challenge her again and disprove it.
Either way, stop acting like this! Why aren't you wearing your uniform?"

The
look Touga gave him in response to his outburst was the closest thing
to normal that Saionji had seen yet during the course of this
conversation. "You're not wearing your uniform, either."

"My
so-called uniform is an impractical atrocity. But yours - you always
liked - you *always* wore that uniform, Touga. What's changed?" Saionji
stepped closer in order to command his friend's full attention, going
so far as to put a hand on his shoulder. Touga's muscles were tense and
hard as wood beneath his touch.

After a long moment, Touga
tipped his head back and sighed, closing his eyes. "Tenjou Utena came
to Ohtori to find the prince who saved her when she was young," he
murmured. Saionji had to strain to understand him. "A lonely princess,
looking for her prince. A story's last scene always has to be of the
prince and the princess."

Saionji turned his friend's cryptic
utterings over in his mind a few times before answering. "You thought
you could be her fairy-tale prince and carry her off on your white
charger, but instead of proclaiming you her savior and adoring you for
evermore, she turned around and kicked your ass."

Yes, it made
sense. He'd been right; Touga wasn't taking this so hard merely because
he'd lost a duel. He'd lost duels before, in and out of the Arena. It
was more than that. Like Wakaba had said, he'd thought he had Tenjou
right where he wanted her. He'd been certain she would capitulate, and
Touga had gotten it into his head that her surrender would be a
validation of some kind.

For a smart guy, Touga could be astoundingly stupid. Saionji
sighed. "This isn't a story, Touga, and Tenjou is not a princess."

Touga opened his eyes. "Isn't she? What is she, then?"

"An irritating tomboy," Saionji snapped.

The
ghost of a smile flew over Touga's face, giving way to the blank mask
before Saionji could be certain he had seen it at all. "If you say so,
Sayuri, then I'm sure it must be true."

It was about Tenjou's
surrender... and, eclipsed by that concern but equally important in the
end, about his own victory. Touga had always wanted to be the Champion.
Anthy had never been more than an accessory to him, or a mildly
pleasant bonus at most - for him, dueling had been all about being the
Champion, right from the beginning, long before Tenjou had appeared on
the scene.

"Touga." Saionji waited for Touga to look at him before going
on. "What would you do with the power to revolutionize the world?"

*If the egg's shell does not break, the chick will die without
being born.*

Touga
hadn't thought about the answer before giving it; it fell from his lips
automatically, learned by rote. It was the phrase they all used to
explain what they were fighting for, but it meant something different
for each of them. By itself, it was meaningless.

"What would you do?" Saionji insisted.

"I told you. I would break the shell."

*If the world's shell does not break, we will die without
being born.*

No... Not good enough. "What would you do?"

"I would become..."

The
silence that followed had nothing in common with mere absence of sound.
It was like the roar of a crowd, like the numbing boom of too many
voices... too close, too loud.

Footsteps on marble. Roses and
incense. An eternal castle coming down, its soaring butresses crumbling
and collapsing, its golden spires piercing his heart. A Princess, lying
in her coffin, red as blood, white as snow. Soft as silk, heavier than
the finest damask, more luxuriant than sable. A Princess, with no
Prince to wake her.

Touga
turned and walked inside. Saionji watched him through the open door as
he changed into his dogi and hakama. He was still moving too stiffly,
almost as though he might break if he wasn't careful.

Saionji won every one of the bouts they fought that day, but
both of them knew why; there was no glory in these victories, and he
felt no triumph. It was the next day, when Touga found him after class
- resplendent in his uniform, gliding through the assembled students
like a particularly sleek and graceful predator - that Saionji smiled,
taking pride in his victory.

***

The bells were tolling in the distance, but Saionji
paid them no heed. It was a beautiful day, the sky cloudless and almost
impossibly blue, the air crisp and invigorating.

"Hey," Touga
said, wheeling his bicycle up the dorm's driveway, shinai in hand. "The
sakura down by the river are in full bloom, Sayuri. Come on, let's go."

The
way he flipped his hair back with a practiced toss of the head was
familiar, as was the glint in his eye that made Saionji think of the
scent of earth and crushed grass. It had been so long, but he could
still remember. The cool touch of wind against his overheated skin,
blowing back stray tendrils of hair that had escaped from his ponytail.
Touga's rapid breaths in his ear, dried bits of grass in his hair,
Touga flopping over onto his back after a while, blinking lazily at the
sky, one hand stretched out to touch him. The slide of Touga's skin,
sun-warm and drugging and no less familiar to his touch than his own.
The sound of Touga's voice, low and open.

The smile, the special
one reserved for him only... the real one, that touched Touga's eyes as
well as his lips. He remembered it perfectly.

Saionji snagged his shinai and joined Touga on the bike, his
heart light and full of the sun and wind and laughter of remembrance.

***

So many things were familiar, and Saionji submerged
himself in them with determination. It worked, for a while. It was easy
to believe, and it entirely eclipsed the fact that he still couldn't
bear to look into a mirror, or even glance down at his distorted chest,
the misformed legs, the spidery hands holding the shinai. What did it
matter? *He* hadn't changed - not truly, not in any significant way. It
didn't matter. He refused to let it matter.

What mattered was
that Touga was back. Touga smiled at him, and sparred with him, and
came to lean against the wall and watch him at odd moments, seeming
content to observe long training sessions, or Saionji alone doing kata,
or even Saionji inspecting the club-owned kendo gear for damage that
would have to be repaired.

"You know," Touga said, his voice low
and intimate. "You're one of the best and most dedicated kendoka I
know, and you're a good teacher, as well. How would you like to be my
second in the kendo club? The position's been open for too long, and
you would be an inestimable asset to us."

Saionji dropped the
kote he'd been examining. The surge of bitter rage that rose in his
throat took him by surprise in its virulence; he barely managed to
clamp his teeth shut over the heated rejoinder that would have informed
Touga of just where he could shove that proposal. Saionji was the
*captain*, damn it. Before his latest habit of hanging out ogling
Saionji, Touga had hardly spent any time at all in the dojo. Not to
mention that he was lousy as an instructor - impatient and invariably
either far too harsh or ridiculously lenient, depending on his mood and
the attractiveness of the student.

Touga had no right to the position of captain. The only reason
he held it at all was that Saionji had left.

It
was a long moment before Saionji had collected himself sufficiently to
be able to answer without making his feelings clear. "No," he snapped
at last, snatching up the padded glove and tossing it back onto the
pile of others waiting to be inspected. His throat closed after the one
harsh word, and he turned his back on Touga's expression of mildly
surprised inquiry.

There was something shattering, breaking
into a million edged pieces. Something fragile and transient,
translucent... Saionji thought it might have been inside himself; he
felt as though the broken shards were cutting him from the inside.

"Why not, Sayuri?" Touga asked softly. "I know you would do a
wonderful job. I have complete confidence in you."

Saionji
shook his head wordlessly. He didn't trust himself to speak. It was not
the same. It was not the same at all, and it never was going to be, no
matter how much he wanted it to.

He went to look for Anthy, and this time, he found her.

***

Anthy was in the greenhouse, tending to the roses as
she always did at this time of day. He could feel her presence resonate
ever stronger within him as he approached. By the time he stood with
his hand on the door and saw her inside, the familiar vise had closed
around him, her unique presence battering at the holds of his heart.

He
paused for a long moment before entering, closing his eyes and
collecting himself. He had to remind himself that he'd decided this
wasn't real. He *had* decided that, hadn't he? That it was her, not
him. He had to remember that or he would lose everything, and he
couldn't afford to - not now. Not any time, never, not now or ever
again, because he was

She turned when he came in, a gentle smile of greeting curving
her lovely mouth.

blinding
burst of *hazy iron stench of old blood, cold incense, the echo of
footsteps on stone, the screams of a thousand soldiers dying in a
thousand battles, the harsh shouts of a thousand people locked into
raging hatred, silence, eternal silence broken only by the deafening,
rushing tempest-howl of the inferno, by the bright ring of steel
against steel, the harsh spitting rattle of gunfire, the whirring of
arrows loosed from the bow*

"Sayuri-sempai," she said, clasping her hands in front of her.

flash of bloodied steel arcing down, the light of a thousand
raging fires glittering on the blade

Blade,
arcing down. Not aimed at him - not aimed at him specifically - but in
a fire-bright burst of insight, Saionji caught the rhythm of the
assault. He *knew* this. He knew the arc of the blade descending, knew
the feel of the sword in his hands, knew the sound of steel as
intimately as he knew the sound of his own heartbeat. The patterns and
rhythms of battle, of the slide of body and blade in a sweeping
sequence of attack-counter-attack, were as natural to him as the
pattern of his breathing, the rhythm of the blood rushing through his
veins.

A masterful offensive could be like a wave that crested
and broke about the opponent, never giving him the chance to gain his
footing and launch an effective attack of his own, never allowing him
to single out an individual attack to counter and turn to his advantage
- until he was swept away, losing his own rhythms in the attacker's.

But no offensive was so masterful it could not be broken apart
and turned back on its instigator. Not even this one.

Separate
threads of raw emotion and deafening force, hard to catch hold of and,
for a heart-stopping moment just short of eternity, impossible to see,
let alone to counter... but when Saionji visualized them as swords
slashing through his defense, everything skewed, turned upside down,
flew apart and came together again in patterns that unfolded to him
naturally.

He gathered himself, shouted, and blocked the
formless blade flying towards his heart. The impact shook him to the
bone and made him shudder uncontrollably, but he gritted his teeth and
steeled himself, refusing to succumb. On the next pass, he was better
prepared for contact with the amorphous power.

"Sayuri-sempai,"
Anthy said, stepping towards him with a shy smile on her face. "I must
leave now, or I will be too late to meet Utena-sama before soccer
practice."

She seemed different than he remembered. She was
still pretty, but her breathtaking, ethereal beauty hovered just out of
reach; she was as she had always been, and yet she seemed irrevocably
changed, a dark edge to her smile that should not have been there, a
knowing glint in her eye that did not belong.

When she walked up to him, Saionji stepped back reflexively,
unwilling to touch her for the first time since he'd known her.

Swords
without blades battered at him, but he was prepared now, the attacker's
wave breaking into swirls and eddies that licked ineffectually around
him. The roar of the fires was muted, the harsh cries heard faintly as
though from great distance.

"Was there something you wanted?" she asked; and that, too,
was wrong, because Anthy never questioned.

There
had been something he'd wanted, something he'd thought he wanted still,
but he was beginning to wonder *why*. Had any of it been true - had his
need for her originated in himself, or had it simply washed over him,
overwhelming and subsuming him, swallowing him up?

Now, with
Anthy smiling up at him, the voices of uncounted multitudes clamoring
behind her smile, he was not certain she was even human. There was
something terrible about her, a deep thrumming he couldn't hear, but
felt deep in his bones, a wordless chanting, an ageless, formless
malevolence flowing outwards. He resisted it at great cost, and only
because she was not even trying.

When she reached up to adjust
her glasses, he glanced at her fingers involuntarily, expecting to see
the rusty stain of blood rather than the slight dusting of potting
soil.

"You know who I am," he gritted out. He sounded angry,
which he supposed was better than sounding afraid. "I know you
remember, Anthy."

Anthy smiled. "Of course I know who you are, Sayuri-sempai. I
remember."

Her
eyes were bottomless; he made the mistake of glancing at them and
almost fell in, nausea washing over him in a dizzy wave as his defense
wavered and the shapeless sword of her presence pierced him.

*No*,
he said, or thought, or screamed. Anthy smiled her sweet smile, and he
stumbled aside as she reached for the door, desperate not to be brushed
by those slender fingers. "Make it stop," he ordered harshly. "Stop it,
Anthy."

"I am engaged to Tenjou Utena now," Anthy said, and
smiled. The voices laughed at him, mocking him, and he had to strain to
turn back the renewed onslaught of a wild storm of emotions that were
not his own. Not his, but oh-so familiar, tempting almost. Almost
irresistible.

He didn't try to stop her when she left. He knew now that he
wouldn't have been able to, even if he had tried. She was still
smiling, and he thought he could pick out her voice from the distant
roaring in his ears. No matter how hard he strained, however, he could
not make out the words she was saying.

***

"Are you interested in my brother?"

Saionji
turned around to find Nanami glowering at him, the usual trio of
sycophants hovering behind her. The black, white and orange dress she
wore was no doubt the very latest in Parisian fashion; she'd pulled out
all the stops for this party. It was probably just Saionji who thought
the thing made her look like a cross between an exhibitionistic butler
and a squash.

"Don't be an idiot, Nanami," Saionji said sharply.

"You
are!" She was fairly vibrating with fury. "Don't bother to deny it - do
you think I'm stupid? I've seen how you look at him, you algae-headed
slut. How can you think you have a chance with him! Why, even the
thought of someone like you hanging around my brother makes me ill."

Saionji
stared at her in silence while the sycophants added their echo to
Nanami's hysterical little speech. Nanami had been obsessed with Touga
since she was tall enough to reach his knee, but had she always been
quite this out of control?

A disdainful gaze worthy of Touga
himself raked Saionji from head to toe. "Our maid dresses better than
you, and you think Touga-sama would ever look at you twice? What a
joke!" She gave a high-pitched trill that was evidently meant to be
laughter, sparking some equally forced titters from her retinue.

They
stared at each other in silence before Saionji shrugged and began to
turn away. Instantly, Nanami was in his face, rage distorting her
pretty features. "I'm warning you, slut. I won't allow even a single
insect to swarm on my brother. Stay away from Touga-sama, or the kendo
club will have no place for you anymore, and neither will any other
club or association at Ohtori. Do you understand me?"

Saionji
regarded her thoughtfully. Most people who learned that Nanami and
Touga were siblings remarked on how dissimilar they were, and they were
right, most of the time. In moments such as this, however, Saionji
could see their shared blood in the bold force of Nanami's gaze, the
arrogant confidence that spoke from her every word, even the strangely
autocratic way she narrowed her eyes at him when he failed to accede to
her demand.

"First of all, Nanami, you're making a spectacle of
yourself," Saionji said at last. Nanami gasped in outrage, but he went
on before she could respond. "Secondly, if you want to keep me away
from your brother, why did you invite me to this party?"

A
quick surge of red dashed across her features, immediately giving way
to chalky white. "You're very sure of yourself," she hissed, and the
amount of venom in her tone took Saionji aback. "Be careful that you do
not overreach yourself, Sayuri."

With that parting threat, vague though it was, she took
herself off.

Saionji
shook his head and turned back to his plate. The food was marginally
more edible than it had been at Touga's birthday party, presumably
because this party had been given on short notice and there hadn't been
time to order up the usual delicacies. Except for that difference, he
might as well have been thrown back in time. The same people, the same
stiff and formal atmosphere, the same bright, gossip-hungry stares...
even the music was the same.

He wondered again why he'd come at
all, and how soon he could leave without attracting undue attention.
Hadn't he promised himself to show better sense than to attend any of
these particular gatherings again?

At least this time, he
wasn't wearing anything as ridiculous as Touga's black dress. Instead,
he'd opted for a simple shirt and pants and felt as comfortable as he
ever did these days. He'd gotten several curious and slightly
disdainful looks for being underdressed, but he didn't particularly
care.

Touga detached from a nearby cluster of students and made
his way in Saionji's direction. He'd been making the rounds since the
party began, ever the gracious host. He seemed to be genuinely enjoying
himself, as inconceivable as that was.

Saionji
humphed. For a moment, he thought Touga might try to take his hand, or
even kiss it, and he quickly busied himself with selecting one of the
bite-sized canapés on his plate in order to prevent it. Touga seemed
constitutionally unable to refrain from flirting. It was irritating -
downright unsettling at times. Saionji did not want to be flirted with.
It would have been dangerously easy to give in again. He'd already made
that mistake, and it had very nearly ruined everything. It was only
dumb luck that had allowed him to regain a measure of closeness to his
friend.

"Something's wrong with Nanami," he said without preamble.
"You should talk to her."

Coppery brows raised in amusement. "I should, should I?"

"Yes," Saionji replied shortly.

The
conversation, such as it was, was interrupted as a student Saionji
remembered as an indifferent fencer came up to exchange polite
inanities with Touga. Saionji made use of the interval to study his
friend. Touga was looking much better; the last lingering traces of the
distracted, almost absent air that had clung to him even after he'd
returned to school had faded at last. Maybe Nanami had had the right
idea in throwing him a party.

"Would you mind if I asked you a question?"

The nameless fencer had gone. Saionji cast a suspicious glance
at Touga. "I won't know until you ask it."

"Does the fact that you don't want to be the kendo club's
second have anything to do with me?"

Saionji
was momentarily at a loss. "It has to do with many things," he evaded
after a too-long pause, painfully aware that it sounded like a lie.

"I
can't think what else it could be. You've already taken on most of the
duties and responsibilities that would fall to you. Everyone looks to
you for instruction, and my lieutenants admire you. To hear Iwamoto
talk of your skills, you are the reincarnation of Musashi, or at the
very least some Yagyu or other." Red hair sheeted forward as Touga
leaned closer, successfully snagging Saionji's hand in a snake-quick
move. "I know you like to work with the less advanced kendoka, Sayuri,
and you spend all of your free time in the dojo, anyway. The only thing
I can think of is that you imagine we wouldn't be able to work
together."

Saionji snatched his hand back and stepped back to put
some space between them, giving his friend a half-hearted glare. "Touga
-"

"We would be good together," Touga coaxed, his tone just short
of seductive. "You know we would. Don't you, Sayuri?"

"There is no need to talk about this. I don't want the
position, and I won't change my mind. That's all there is to say."

Just
then, a familiar thrill stole into his heart, making him shiver and
starting up a deeper resonance in his bones, his blood, his soul.

Anthy.

Perhaps
he could have stopped his instinctive reaction if he'd been better
prepared, but the senseless argument had distracted him too much. Even
as he struggled to close his defense and shield himself with thoughts
shaped into sharpened steel, he pivoted as though attached to a string.
His eyes unfailingly sought out the delicate form of the girl
accompanying Miki and - how could it be otherwise - Tenjou.

His
scowl was automatic, but the stab of jealousy that had always pierced
him at the sight of his Anthy smiling at her new Champion failed to
materialize. The surge of passionate emotion Anthy unfailingly evoked
was also absent, and for several heartbeats, the absence itself was
more disquieting than the expected turmoil of tangled and mindless
need/desire/greed/despair/anger/fear could have been. Strangest of all
was that in a way, Saionji could feel it still, or imagined he could -
outside of himself, where it should be, kept separate and apart by the
slowly consolidating line of his defense.

Tenjou caught sight of
him and waved, a wide grin splitting her face; Saionji was suddenly
irrationally grateful to her for being herself so relentlessly. He
could not fail to return the greeting without seeming ungracious, but
he made sure that his own wave was fittingly dignified.

When he
turned back, Touga was watching him with his eyes narrowed in
speculation, expression turned inscrutable. "How remiss of me not to
take this possibility into account. Are you planning on dueling for the
Rose Bride?"

Saionji raised an eyebrow at him. "I am not wearing a rose
signet."

"Not at the moment, but things change."

Across
the room, Tenjou said something to Anthy and the girl ducked her head,
smiling bashfully at the floor. The sight did nothing to Saionji.
Lately, many of the things he'd thought he wanted with all of his soul
had turned themselves inside out in front of his eyes. Yes, things did
change, even - or perhaps particularly - those you expected to stay
constant forever.

"No. I will not fight," Saionji said softly.
He'd known he would never be a duelist again from the moment he'd been
expelled, and in that respect, his return hadn't altered anything. The
rules changed too quickly, the letters that were their only point of
contact with Ends of the World could not be trusted... and most
importantly, there was something very peculiar about Anthy, something
deeply and fundamentally *wrong*. There was no point in fighting under
these circumstances, and every reason not to.

A hand moved
under his chin to turn his head, but Saionji shook it off impatiently
and shot Touga a speaking look. Touga raised the offending hand
slightly in a mocking gesture of apology. His voice was a dark,
seductive purr when he spoke again. "What would you do with the power
to bring the world revolution, Sayuri?"

"Nothing," Saionji said quietly. "Idiot. It doesn't exist."

Anthy
was turning to collect her annoying rat creature from the floor behind
her and, for the briefest of moments, her gaze brushed Saionji's. His
breath caught; the familiar swell of not-quite-terror wanted to rise
from his gut. Even now. Even now, she did this to him with just a
glance...

This was not love, he reminded himself fiercely. This was not
desire. Whatever it was, it was *not* that.

Touga's tone was thick with disbelief. "Saionji?"

***

"You should have told me."

Saionji had only
very rarely seen Touga truly angry; he was one of the most
self-possessed people Saionji had ever known. He was angry now - angry
enough to make his nostrils flare and a flush stain his cheeks with
blood. If Saionji hadn't allowed himself to be hauled off to the
breakfast room, Touga might have tried to knock him down and drag him
by the hair.

"Because you caught on yourself! Don't try to tell me you'd
have believed it coming from anyone else."

Red
hair lashed the windowpane with the sound of a dozen tiny explosions as
Touga whirled around to glare at him. "What are you doing here, anyway?
You've been expelled!"

"I have *not*. Saionji Kyouichi's been expelled. Yoshitoyo
Sayuri has never so much as gotten a demerit."

"Is that why you did this?"

Saionji
gave an incredulous bark of laughter. Why he'd *done* this? What, he
thought Saionji had turned into a woman because he'd *felt* like it?

"I
cannot believe you did this." Touga's voice had sunk even lower, the
rasping purr pure threat as he stalked closer. "I absolutely cannot
believe that you slept with me!"

"You threw yourself at me, stuck
your tongue down my throat and practically did a lapdance! And now
you're trying to blame *me* for taking advantage of *you*? Try not to
be more of an idiot than you can help, Touga. You sleep with anything
that moves, a roll in your bed is practically one of the requirements
for graduation, and you can't tell me you didn't -"

"*Shut up!*"

For
a long moment of shocked disbelief, Saionji was certain that Touga
would hit him. Then, the other man spun away, every movement tight and
graceless with barely checked violence.

"It should never have
happened," Touga said fiercely, addressing the night beyond the window.
"I would never have allowed this to happen if you had told me."

Saionji
shook his head angrily. This was a senseless argument; he didn't even
understand why Touga was this angry. Surely sex wasn't anything Touga
would get worked up about, no matter who he had inadvertently slept
with. Could he be disappointed over something he saw as a lack of trust
on Saionji's part?

"But then, maybe that's why you didn't tell
me," Touga went on slowly, eyes narrowing. His voice lowered and
calmed, slipping back into the customary amused, sensual purr. Saionji
immediately knew that he was unsheathing his sword, drawing back for
the lethal stroke. "After all, I always knew that I could have you for
the asking. You've been sniffing after me for years, haven't you,
Saionji? Just like a bitch in heat."

It never ceased to astonish
Saionji that even after all this time, even after everything that had
passed between them, Touga still held the power to hurt him.

He'd
never had anything to counter Touga's killing words with. He wasn't
stupid, but whenever he was confronted with the full force of Touga's
fleet tongue and cruel wit, the inevitable end result was that he would
be forced to fall silent and seethe in impotent rage.

Saionji's right hand curled; he could almost feel the grip of
his katana in his palm.

"If
it's any consolation," Touga murmured seductively, "I'd probably have
taken you up on it long ago if you were anyone but who you are."

That
remark gave Saionji pause; he had no idea just what Touga was trying to
say. The only thing he was sure of was that whatever it was, he
wouldn't want to know.

Touga made a graceful dismissive gesture
with one hand, flipping his hair back over his shoulder as an
afterthought. "Just see that you don't do anything like this again."

"What - turning into a woman or not telling you about it?"
Saionji snapped.

Just
when Saionji had thought this conversation couldn't get any more
surreal, Touga turned, walked up to him, took hold of his shirtfront
with both hands and ripped it open right down to Saionji's navel.

"So how did this happen, anyway?"

"You fucking bastard - take your fucking hands off of -"

The
curse was smothered when Touga's mouth came down on his with bruising
force. Touga's tongue and lips and teeth were devouring him, his body
pressing him back into the wall, hands on his gaping shirt, inside,
cupping and kneading his breasts roughly. After a moment, one of
Touga's hands slid down to the juncture of his thighs; Saionji had
hooked a leg around Touga's hip before he realized what was going on,
had arched into the almost brutal touch and taken up the battle for
dominance of the kiss.

"You want me," Touga spat, tearing his
mouth free. "You've been lusting after me since before you knew what
the hell it was you wanted."

Saionji never knew what he would
have answered. There was no warning at all; from one moment to the
next, his body erupted into unbearable agony. He gasped for breath and
crumpled, desperately fighting to force air into his blazing lungs in
spite of the pain.

Dimly, his mind registered that he'd
collapsed forward and that someone was holding him up. Before his
vision blurred into a wash of crimson and grey, he caught a brief
glimpse of a hand clenched around his biceps. He couldn't feel it at
all.

Saionji.

golden spires, bamboo swords, the scent of
incense and flowers, cold stone beneath his naked feet, Anthy in her
coffin, rosevines twining around her limbs, a storm of white and pink
petals swirling by in the breeze, tinged by blood and stinking of
death, Touga throwing down his sword, blood-red hair spilling out
across marble and bone, the dragon's scales sprouting from his skin
like armor

Saionji!

It was different this time - he could
feel something inestimably huge and formless reaching for him, stealing
his breath, rending, tearing, sifting through him and grasping hold at
a level so deep Saionji couldn't even see, grasping and he was dying
dying in flame, *taking*

Far away, he could hear the clash of
swords, and for a moment, the sound offered him something to hold on
to, a fixed point in a madly swirling maelstrom of blood and petals and
fire. Almost, he could breathe, if he could struggle upright against
the dragon sitting on his chest breathing fire into his mouth and
rose-scented sulphur into his nose and digging silver claws into his
heart, then he might almost be able to breathe

A single, clear
note cut through everything with merciless purity, passing through him
like an arrow through fog. It was the sound of a sword breaking.

Saionji
arched against the dragon's hold and opened his mouth to scream with
the loss, but he lacked the breath, and the Other was faster. The Other
flew in the arrow's wake, faster than even the pain, glowing like
coals, swirling with implacable purpose. It leapt for him, ripped him
open and took hold of everything he was...

*Saionji,* mocked
the dragon, its voice as musical as silver bells, the fire it breathed
out along with the name burning Saionji's skin to ash. *Kyouichi.*

... and *twisted*.

7. ~
Self ~

The bed he woke in was not his own. It wasn't the scent of
someone else on the pillowcase beneath his head, the cool slickness of
the sheets, or even the angle of the light falling onto his face that
alerted him to the fact. Long before these factors had a chance to
register in his sleep-dazed mind, the leg pushed between his own and
the warm body molded to his back startled him violently awake.

He
jerked to wakefulness with a full-body start and attempted to sit up,
only to flop over with an undignified grunt as the room suddenly
flipped and the mattress reared up to slap him in the face.

Leg and body withdrew. "He wakes at last," Touga drawled.

Saionji ignored him. He thought that he might be sick if he
moved again. Ever.

After
an expectant pause, the mattress shifted and a pale arm and shoulder
came into view as Touga sat up behind him. Saionji flinched a little as
a cool hand brushed the hair off his face, but relaxed into the touch
without protest. It made the warning throb pressing at his temples
subside to a low ache... at least it did until Saionji's face was
turned firmly, those same cool fingers gripping his jaw like a vise.

He
glared at Touga, putting every bit of scathing he could muster into the
expression. Touga tilted Saionji's face back into the light, incisive
blue eyes gliding over the lines of his brows, cheekbones, nose and
mouth so intently that it felt almost as though the gaze were cutting
through skin, sinew and muscle, down to the naked bone.

Touga
laughed at him and let him go with a subtle slide of fingertips against
skin. It would have felt like a caress, if Saionji hadn't known better.
"Remarkable. You look far more like her when you're awake."

Saionji
huffed and tried to sit up again. Touga put a casual hand on the middle
of his chest and leaned. It shouldn't have been possible for anyone to
loom languidly, but he did.

Not
now. He didn't want to deal with Touga in this mood at any time, but
especially not now, when every muscle was tender with the echoes of
overexertion and remembered agony, when he was weak from hunger as well
as exhaustion, when his head was pounding a counterpoint to his
heartbeat in blazing and ever-mounting pain... when what he wanted most
in the world was to find a mirror and stand in front of it for the rest
of the day just to convince himself that he was *himself* again.

"You've
only made it harder on yourself." Touga had eased up on Saionji's
chest. His hand was now trailing down over Saionji's stomach, slowly,
as languid as the spare curl of a smile lingering on his lips. He
hardly seemed aware of what his hand was doing. Saionji should stop
him, *would* stop him, as soon as - "But then, you were always good at
that."

His hand slid beneath the silken sheet and continued on
without pause. Saionji gasped as it closed around him with a firm,
expert grip, not too gentle, not too hard. And oh, to feel this again,
to feel arousal pulse and flow and grow in this so-familiar and welcome
way... that alone was heaven.

Touga let go after one long, slow stroke. "Everything still in
working order, I see."

It
took a conscious effort not to moan in protest at the abandonment, but
Saionji dredged up the necessary energy from reserves he hadn't
previously been aware of. The same spark of anger carried him through a
second attempt at sitting up, and that took care of both his
frustration and arousal. The roiling nausea and the pain of a body
pushed far too close to its limits, if not beyond, left no room for
anything else.

If Touga hadn't been lounging behind him,
Saionji would have lain back down to rest some more before trying to do
anything else. As it was, that simply wasn't an option.

He
could feel Touga's eyes on him all the way to the bathroom door. The
gaze burned more than his straining muscles and the cruel rasp of air
in his lungs combined.

By the time Saionji came out again, Touga was gone.

***

"Saionji Kyouichi-kun."

Saionji turned, but didn't get up from his perch on the base
of one of the statues littering the city park.

"Mikage," Saionji acknowledged, sounding more surprised than
he would have liked. "How did you find me here?"

"The Black Rose Society is informed about every detail
concerning the Academy, no matter how minute."

Highly
doubtful and not really an answer at all, but Saionji let it slide,
going back to watching the ducks paddle lazily across the pond. He'd
spent a lot of time here during the past days, watching birds and
thinking while his body recovered. The conclusions he'd come to hadn't
served to lift his spirits; he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone,
and Mikage Souji's presence in particular was entirely unwelcome. Not
that he had much hope the man would take the hint and leave - he never
had been much inclined to subtlety.

There had been a time when
Saionji had found Mikage's company pleasant. In a way, he was like
Saionji. He, too, was looking for something beyond the fleeting
illusions of everyday life, a deeper and lasting truth. In other ways,
however - such as the way he watched people that he thought might prove
advantageous, if they were handled correctly - he reminded Saionji of
Touga. Saionji had always known to be cautious of him.

Now, for
reasons he couldn't quite pin down, the man's presence grated on
Saionji's nerves like a jarringly wrong note in a symphony.

"Your
expulsion has been reversed," Mikage said matter-of-factly, not
bothering with preamble. "The investigation into the circumstances of
the duel has revealed that foul play was involved."

Saionji looked up sharply.

Mikage
watched him without noticeable emotion, seeming neither surprised nor
disconcerted by Saionji's unconcealed suspicion. "The letter
authorizing the duel was not authentic, but it was an excellent
forgery. It must have come from someone close to Ends of the World, who
was familiar with and had access to previous such missives. The other
members of the Student Council would be suspects, if they were not all
above suspicion. It is clear you were acting in good faith, at any
rate. As for the injury caused a student during the course of the
unauthorized duel, the Acting Chairman has judged it to be an accident
without malicious intent."

Mikage Souji wasn't particularly
adept at kendo. Saionji, on the other hand, was accustomed to seeing
the world in terms of balance, the flow, press and give of opposing
forces. He recognized attempts to divert and channel them, whether or
not they were made with a sword in hand.

Not that it made a
difference. Saionji saw the trap laid out for him with perfect clarity,
but he would step into it anyway. He had no real choice.

"It is
gratifying that Chairman Ohtori has seen fit to investigate the matter
personally," Saionji said neutrally. "I will return to the Academy
immediately."

"The Student Council Vice President's dorm room
has been empty while you were gone." Mikage held out a key that Saionji
took carefully, avoiding the touch of the other man's skin. There was
no reason to - no reason, except that the mere thought of touching him
raised goosebumps on Saionji's arms and spread outwards from his chest
with the same mixture of watchful readiness and absolute calm that
preceded a duel.

Ridiculous, on the surface of it, but Saionji trusted his
instincts.

"We
are distressed that such deception was practiced at the Academy - it
does not bode well for our future prospects." Mikage stood smoothly,
expression still completely blank. Saionji wondered what passions moved
beneath that tranquil surface. "You should have come to me when this
first happened. Your talent is very valuable to us, Saionji-kun, and
you know the power the Black Rose Society wields."

Wordlessly, Saionji inclined his head. Mikage bowed and left
without fanfare.

It
was unwise to return to Ohtori. It was clear that Saionji had once
again been cast in the role of pawn in a game he couldn't even guess
at. Whatever Anthy and Ohtori were, whatever was wrong with Mikage,
whatever elaborate scheme the duels for the Rose Bride and the
machinations of Ends of the World served... nothing good would come of
it, certainly not for mere pawns. Saionji still couldn't remember how
long he'd been caught up in the wrongness of Ohtori, but even with days
and months and seasons blurring into each other seamlessly in his mind,
he knew now that it had been far longer than it should have been. Even
time seemed to bend to the rules of Ends of the World's elaborate game.
Saionji had nothing to counter that kind of power with; he might simply
be overwhelmed again if he returned. He might forget everything but the
role designed for him... dance steps someone else had choreographed to
further an oblique purpose Saionji could not hope to fathom.

But
Touga was still at Ohtori, weaving his own nets, laying down rules of
his own for others to dance by. Touga meant to become the Champion, to
hell with the cost.

In retrospect, Saionji recognized the hand
of Ends of the World everywhere - not just in the Rose Seal duels and
the rules that governed the lives of the Student Council, but in the
entire self-contained society of Ohtori, all of it clearly designed for
a purpose, even if that purpose lay shrouded in mystery. He'd seen the
power behind the manipulation, as well. There had been moments when the
velvet sheath had slipped to reveal glimpses of razor-honed steel...
glimpses like the obliviousness and forgetfulness that sealed Ohtori
away from the outside world. The annihilating fall of the castle in
which eternity dwelled. The restrained, terrible power lurking behind
Anthy's gently smiling face. Ohtori's burning touch, pressing against
Saionji's body and mind. Even Mikage, setting Saionji's teeth on edge
with his *wrongness* - Mikage with his empty expression and a mind like
a steel trap, passions so deeply hidden Saionji could not guess at
where they ran beneath the ice-rimed mask of his serenity.

Touga's
hand had become subtler as he grew older; his touch was now so light
that it was rarely felt. Touga had mastered almost everyone he had ever
met and bound the rare exceptions tight with invisible nets until they
could not breathe, much less think to move against him. Touga always
knew just where to strike, found any opening and took it with such
consummate skill that the killing blow was never felt. His nets were
far-flung, his schemes subtle, flexible and intricate.

Nanami,
challenging Utena to a duel to avenge her brother's pain. Utena,
slumping on a window ledge with dull eyes, giving up on herself. Dozens
of pretty young things hanging on Touga's every word even after he'd
dumped them, teachers arranging classes around the Student Council
President's schedule, the school's director expelling someone who had
crossed Touga for a minor infraction... Saionji himself, tumbling into
Touga's bed like an empty-headed fool who didn't know any better.

Oh
yes, Touga was good, but he was fallible - he slipped up sometimes, and
he was human, with nothing more arcane than cunning and influence to
back his schemes. Saionji had seen both Ends of the World and Touga at
work, and Ends of the World was better. So much better that Touga would
never see the killing blow coming, and possibly not realize he'd been
dealt a lethal wound even then.

Touga was too used to victory to be careful.

No... there was no choice at all.

***

His old dorm room was unchanged, just as Mikage had
promised. The school uniforms he'd left behind were still hanging in
the closet, closet doors still open wide, exactly as he'd left them.
The air was warm and stale and smelled strangely sour; Saionji strode
to the window to air the room, setting down his bag next to the bed on
the way.

That was when he discovered that the room was not
quite unchanged, after all. A badly charred book rested on his desk
next to the picture of two boys with shinai in hand, both of them
smiling, Touga's hand resting on Kyouichi's shoulder.

Saionji's
hesitant touch was enough to make the brittle remains crumble further.
When he drew back, a slightly oily residue of ash clung to his
fingertips. He rubbed them together, crushing blackened fragments of
paper into silken powder. The blackened lump probably wouldn't have
been recognizable as a book, let alone an exchange diary, if part of
the cover hadn't miraculously escaped the blaze. Saionji's name had
been erased by fire, but Anthy's was still readable.

The sour scent of ashes stung his sinuses, making his eyes
tear before he shook his head angrily and turned away.

Incense
heavy in the air, the taste of ashes in his mouth. The blown blooms of
roses, petals dark and bruised, graceful arches collapsing, flash of
sunlight on white stone, fracturing into a delirious kaleidoscope of
spectral light and gleaming dust. Fire, violent heat rising around him
with a sound as of giant wings beating, drowning out the sound of his
own harsh breathing, drowning out the pain and rage and hate of
everyone who had preceded him onto this field of blood and fire and
flashing steel.

The fire would burn out, though; the blood
would stop flowing eventually, the swords crumble into rust until there
was nothing left but silence. Nothing lasted forever, after all.

He found a garbage bag in the drawer by the sink and swept the
remains of the exchange diary into it. His hand was steady. He was too
numb to be certain of what he was feeling, but he did find that he was
not particularly surprised. Perhaps that would prove to be the most
serious wound of all.

***

The elevator took a long time to reach its
destination, but Saionji barely noticed. He felt as though he were only
half there. When the wrought iron gate finally pulled back to admit him
to the Student Council's viewing platform, he remained motionless for a
long moment, looking out across the familiar expanse of empty space and
open sky. It hadn't been that long since he'd last been here, but it
seemed like a lifetime. He could hardly recall the person he'd been
when he'd last made this trip.

His bare feet were cat-silent on
sun-warmed marble. It was clear he wasn't expected; there were only
three chairs at the Student Council's table, now, and all of them were
occupied.

They were playing cards again. Juri saw him first,
and her already chilly expression hardened further, saved from disdain
by only the narrowest of margins. Miki merely looked surprised. Saionji
ignored both of them.

"I challenge you." His voice came out
very soft. Saionji half expected he'd have to repeat himself, but he
didn't; after a too-long moment, the object of the challenge put down
his cards and turned gracefully in his chair, faint amusement showing
in his face.

"Saionji," he said, an elegant lift of one brow
signaling mild interest. He didn't get up. "I didn't think we'd see you
here again."

From their seats behind Touga, Juri and Miki looked
Saionji over in silence. Neither of them remarked on his sudden return,
let alone his attire of dogi and hakama. Neither one said a word about
the sheathed katana in his hand, although it was obvious they were
aware of its presence. Distantly, Saionji wondered whether it was a
prerequisite for members of the Student Council to be so neurotically
guarded.

Maybe it was the company they kept.

"No, I
imagine you didn't." Saionji's voice was still very low. When he
stepped closer, Touga's stance shifted immediately, his head tilting
just so, one shoulder moving back infinitesimally to show off his slim,
muscular figure to best advantage.

The sight gave Saionji an odd pang. Scales flashed in
sunlight, teeth glinting bright as steel...

Touga
should have looked different, at least to Saionji's eyes, but he was
the same as always. He was still beautiful, still arrogant, still cool
and calculating and distant. The same he'd been for too long, a careful
illusion woven of lies and broken shards of truth to give the construct
substance.

"I realize you've been out of the loop," Touga said,
his voice rich with amusement and the kind of affection one might hold
for a particularly thick, but devoted puppy. "But you really should
make an effort to find out who the current Champion is before you go
around challenging people, Saionji-kun. Not everyone would be as
understanding as me, you know."

"I'm not here to challenge the Champion," Saionji said evenly.
"I'm here to challenge you."

Juri's
eyes narrowed even as Touga's eyebrows lifted. Saionji raised his hand
so both of them could see his bare fingers. His rose signet had been
lying on the dresser, just where he'd put it. He'd thought of throwing
it out with the remains of the exchange diary, but had left it where it
was instead. He hadn't wanted to touch it.

The expression on
Touga's face was familiar - dispassionate and assessing. When was the
last time Saionji had met that particular gaze without being
discomfited? Perhaps he never had. Back when they'd laughed and sparred
and sworn to be best friends forever, Touga's eyes had never been cold
when he looked at Saionji, even when he was angry. Touga's anger had
been explosive, once, hot and arid and blowing over with angry words
and an occasional half-serious scuffle that almost inevitably ended in
laughter.

But that was then, and this was not the same Touga.
It had taken Saionji too long to see it, but he had, finally. Now, when
this Touga uncoiled and rose to step closer, Saionji could allow it
without feeling the strain his friend's proximity had meant before. The
dull coil of pain and longing nesting deep in his belly slept on, not
awakened by this Touga's nearness, not stirred even by the touch of the
practiced fingers delivering a lingering caress to the side of
Saionji's face.

"Saionji," Touga murmured, voice dark and low.
His eyes were watchful, waiting for an opening. "We shouldn't fight
without reason... after all, aren't you my one and only best friend?"

The
empty words fell into silence, leaving Saionji untouched. It was hard
to tell if Touga realized his blade had been blunted; nothing of the
knowledge reflected in his slow smile, but that meant nothing. "I have
tickets for the opera tonight. Wouldn't you like to accompany me?"

"No," Saionji answered. "Are you refusing the challenge?"

There
was no way Touga could refuse, of course. That was why Saionji had
chosen to confront him here, with Juri and Miki bearing silent witness.
Alone, Touga might have laughed the challenge off. Under the eyes of
the Student Council, he wouldn't risk it - it might be interpreted as
weakness.

"Of course not," Touga said lightly. His fingers
trailed slowly down Saionji's neck before he stepped back, affecting an
air of regret. "But what is the point of a formal challenge without the
Rose Bride, Saionji-kun? Tell me you didn't stage this little drama
merely in order to ask me to spar with you."

"I challenge you for my best friend," Saionji said calmly. "It
ends now."

Touga
didn't say anything for a long moment, but the seduction had fled his
pose. His back was very straight as he turned to throw a deliberate
glance at the dueling arena. The castle above it was no more than an
outline against the bright midday sky.

When Touga turned back,
the mask had fallen away; with the silken sheath discarded, the
razor-honed blade of his true nature glittered in his eyes like shards
of frozen fire. An errant breeze whirled over the platform and blew the
hair away from his face to stream out behind him like a banner,
drenched in blood, lit by sullen flame. Hard glitter of perfect, pale
skin in the sun. Flash of armor.

Teeth flashed as Touga smiled, the expression devoid of
anything but threat. "If that is what you truly want, my Kyouichi-kun,"
he said, voice soft and musical as the song of steel in the air. "Far
be it from me to save you from your folly."

***

They chose the dojo, deserted at this time of day.
Touga arrived with a rose the color of arterial blood tucked into the
pocket of his uniform; the bloom was no brighter than the blaze of his
hair. Saionji still wore his dogi and hakama, untouched by any splash
of color.

Touga raised a mocking eyebrow in greeting. "No rose, Saionji?"

"This is not a rose seal duel," Saionji repeated without
emphasis. "I don't play by those rules anymore."

That got him an amused and slightly condescending quirk of the
lips. "Then how will we determine the winner?"

"We'll know."

Touga watched him narrowly for a long moment and then
shrugged. "Very well."

The
katana gleamed as Touga raised it above his head, his slight smile
fading into the impassive focus of complete concentration. Saionji fell
into the natural counter position without thought, breath slowing and
body relaxing.

When Touga struck, he struck with the swiftness of
a snake, sword flying into an almost unstoppable arc of liquid silver.
Saionji hadn't been able to predict the moment of attack, but it didn't
matter. His body fitted itself to the familiar pattern without the need
for decision. A fraction of a second passed in stillness before Saionji
melted out of the blade's path at the last possible moment, his own
sword whipping around.

Saionji came in low and from the side,
and Touga barely managed to turn in time to counter; he was still
off-balance from his strike into thin air. Before Saionji could follow
up with a new attack that would secure his advantage, however, Touga
stepped in close and caught Saionji's swordguard with his own.

His
eyes were steady on Saionji's as they fought to push each other's
weapon away. And then there was something - something in the way he
inhaled, something in the way his lips softened as though about to
open, some indefinable hint of hesitation, as though he were searching
for the right words...

For a moment of mingled disbelief and
anticipation, Saionji was certain that Touga would say something to him
across the barrier of steel.

He didn't do any such thing, of
course. What he did do was push down hard and leap back. Saionji's
sword jerked upward as though he were a rank amateur. The lightning
attack Touga launched at Saionji's middle almost connected, and if he'd
had the time and concentration to spare, Saionji would have cursed.

The
katanas' blades rang out harshly as Saionji's inelegant block turned
aside the attack just far enough to let him twist away. The angled
swing intended to carry Saionji in above Touga's guard came too late to
succeed; scarlet petals fluttered as steel clashed directly in front of
Touga's rose, but the match had turned. Saionji was following the
rhythm Touga was setting.

Saionji disengaged for an instant and
rotated the katana, lunging back in to try for the side of Touga's head
with the flat of the blade. Another mistake - if they'd been wearing
bogu, it would have worked, but without the protection of armor,
Saionji had to slow the blow deliberately to weaken its force. The
split second delay was all the time Touga needed.

This time,
Touga slid Saionji's blade to the side rather than locking swords. The
space he won allowed him to step out of range. His chuckle was husky
with exertion and rich with amusement; it filled the dojo like a
tangible thing.

Saionji hesitated, sword hovering in chudan.

In
a move coordinated and smooth enough to seem slow even though it
wasn't, Touga shouldered his blade. A well-practiced maneuver,
obviously... Saionji himself had never had much use for the katsugi
technique; it was flamboyant, risky, and liable to do more harm than
good against anyone but a rash or inexperienced opponent who could be
lulled into a false sense of security. It bordered on insult that Touga
would -

Memory burst into Saionji's train of thought. *Iwamoto
twisting to the side and away, stepping back to deliver a one-handed
attack from the distance. A move he'd never seen her use before. A
risky move - to carry it successfully against an opponent of Saionji's
caliber, she would need a considerable tactical advantage. Either that,
or Saionji would have to make a mistake. Saionji disapproved; she
shouldn't have been hinging a strategy so risky on mistakes her
opponent might or might not make.*

"Still my old Saionji." The corners of Touga's mouth lifted
into the ghost of a smile. "You always think too much."

Someone had shown Iwamoto to fight like that, and it hadn't
been Saionji.

As
though he'd been waiting for Touga's words to meld with the memory and
complete the picture, Touga's strategy crystallized in Saionji's mind.
It made perfect sense; it fit all of Touga's moves. Even so, there was
a long moment in which Saionji found himself unable to accept what his
instincts told him. This... this was the strategy of someone who knew
he was outmatched, and Touga had always been better than Saionji. By a
very slim margin, certainly, but...

Always.

Touga was
good, there was no doubt about that. Utena had been better than him
from the beginning, though, and she had lost to him, once. Just as
Saionji had lost to him, always.

*He has you believing you can't beat him, and as long as you
believe it, it's true.*

The
faint astonishment that lapped at the edges of his awareness was firmly
rebuffed; this was not the time for it. Saionji raised the katana above
his head, relaxing once more into battle-ready alertness. He stood
fully in the moment, the sword in his hands an extension of his own
body, as natural and necessary as any of the limbs he had been born
with.

When it came, the attack was strong and whole-hearted.
Touga shouted as he leaped forward, his sword blurring into an arc in
front of his body. Time slowed; Saionji waited, relaxed and ready. He
caught a brief glimpse of Touga's bared teeth, but his attention was
focussed on the pattern his opponent's blade and body wove. Their
language spoke to him on a level connected directly to muscle, bone and
instinct, beyond any need for the focus of thought or words.

Breathe.
Wait while razor-honed steel sliced towards his hip, parting the air
with the musical sound of a perfectly executed stroke. React when the
moment came. Spring from immobility into action without transition.
Turn into the attack and bring down the katana with irresistible force.

Saionji's
katana struck Touga's blade at the instant it reached its greatest
momentum, jarring both of them to the bone. Saionji absorbed the impact
and struck again instantly without lifting his blade, the strength of
his entire body backing the stroke.

Steel sparked on steel; the
subliminal vibration of straining metal thrummed through Saionji's
body. A choked growl escaped from between Touga's clenched teeth.

A katana dropped to the hardwood floor.

Saionji reached out and plucked the rose whole from his
opponent's chest. One petal clung, red as blood against snowy white.

There
was a moment of silence, filled only with their breathing, harsh with
exertion and something more. Touga was on his knees, kneeling over his
fallen sword; his hair had fallen forward to obscure his face.

The
duel was over, and yet... Instinct prodded Saionji to kick his
opponent's katana aside and swing his own up high once again. He took a
quick step back from Touga, a dart of apprehension piercing the calm
knowledge of his victory.

Something soft was being crushed
between his hand and the grip of his weapon. He shifted his hold and
shook loose a handful of petals that clung wetly to his palm before
drifting to the ground. The scent of roses and incense brushed him.
Saionji wiped his hand against his leg and retreated yet another step
from his vanquished opponent, unreasoning foreboding tight in his
throat.

In front of him, Touga hunched over, hands to either
side of the fallen weapon. His hair spilled across the floor, burning
fire-bright against the pale wood.

This was entirely wrong;
Saionji knew this was wrong, but he could do nothing but watch, the
calm focus of the duel now no more than a memory.

The knobs of
Touga's spine were clearly visible, and they shouldn't have been - not
through the thick fabric of his uniform jacket. The fabric itself
looked peculiar, shining almost wetly in the soft light that fell
through the dojo's windows. It was wrinkled, too, deep folds running
its entire length on either side of Touga's spine. Saionji couldn't
imagine what Touga had been doing; he was usually so meticulous about
his appearance.

Shadows seemed to gather around Touga, and
Saionji blinked as his vision blurred. It didn't help - the shape
crouching in the middle of the dojo refused to come into focus. When
Saionji glanced down at his own white-knuckled grip on the katana, his
hands and sword stood out in sharp detail. When he looked back up -

Wings
folded outwards from the back of the creature that crouched in front of
Saionji, glistening jewel-like in the low light. The spiny crest
running the length of its back flared, exposing a jewelled pattern in
all the colors of flame.

The wings extended with a sound as of
a thousand doves taking flight at once. They were too wide for the
confines of the dojo. Where they would have touched the walls, wood and
stone melted away, leaving blue sky and a distant image of spiralling
towers, nebulous and insubstantial in the bright sunlight that struck
sparks from glittering scales.

The dragon lifted its head. Its
eyes were the color of ancient glaciers, freezing Saionji in place with
the age and weight of their gaze. Its armor of scales was incandescent;
every sinuous movement sent up a bright shower of sparks, all colors of
the rainbow struck off the jewelled hide by the sunlight that glittered
erratically across the dragon's skin like the dance of foxfire. Smoke
curled from its nostrils, and its teeth were longer than Saionji's
katana, curved inwards slightly and as silver-blue as the finest forged
steel. It was beautiful, a creature of sheer power and majesty.

Between
its paws, a small figure huddled, pale skin streaked with scarlet where
the claws of the beast had dug deep. Fire licked at silver teeth as the
creature spoke. Its voice rumbled through the stone beneath Saionji's
feet, creeping up the soles of his feet to his ankles and knees and
lodging deep in his gut. *No,* it repeated, and the shape of the word
was more felt than heard. Its gaze lit into molten cobalt, searing into
Saionji with a palpable force that almost made him stumble backwards.
*I can't lose to you. Never to you.*

There was no time to brace
for the attack. The long body coiled and sprang, teeth and claws
flashing in the sullen glow of flame. Saionji reacted instinctively,
diving to the side to evade the weapons as the dragon struck. He heard
the bright ring of steel meeting steel as he landed lightly on the
balls of his feet and whirled, raising his sword into jodan. The dragon
was almost close enough to touch, turning to renew its own attack, and
Saionji waited - as the agile neck snapped around, sinewy body aligning
and drawing back in preparation - for the perfect moment, when the
creature was beginning to extend into the lunge.

The sound of
tempered steel meeting the diamond-girded curve of neck rang out lucent
and pure. It was still hovering in the air when Saionji followed the
deflected hit with a swift, forceful slice to the leg lifting toward
him, claws extending and spreading as though in slow motion.

Had
the dragon possessed the reflexes of a reptile, Saionji wouldn't have
been able to widen the distance between them in time. Although the
beast was fast, however, its speed was not inhuman. Before the massive
head snapped around, Saionji had gained enough ground to be out of the
immediate range of claws and teeth. The respite lasted no longer than
an instant, though. Saber-like fangs flashed towards Saionji's
shoulder; he dropped and leaped across the paw the creature had planted
on the ground to support itself.

It evidently hadn't been
expecting Saionji to move in closer. The second or so he'd gained was
his chance to decide the battle - perhaps the last one he would get.
Saionji wasn't at all certain how long he could hold out against a
creature like this.

He turned even as he came out of the
crouch, his katana describing a rising spiral around his body, and
gathered himself into a single blade of purpose and power aimed at the
creature's unprotected side -

- stepping squarely into the path of a glittering bludgeon of
muscle and scale that hurtled towards his head.

Impossible
to evade the battering force of the creature's tail. He'd been prepared
for claws and fangs, reacting to the twofold danger as to a nito-attack
by an opponent with two swords. That had been his mistake; he should
have realized that the pattern would not fit this creature.

Following
the lightning rhythm of battle without deliberation, Saionji used the
instant left him to adjust his stance, flattening the angle of his
sword, releasing himself fully into the last fraction of his turn and
fitting his own motion to that of the bludgeon.

The impact was
stunning, even though it missed his head and neck to land squarely
across his shoulders. The pain didn't matter, though. Saionji's attack
was set, his body committed to the pattern. He absorbed the force of
the blow into his own momentum towards the dragon's flank, katana
leading. The tip of his sword found the slight indentation behind and
below the beast's left shoulder unerringly.

The shock of this
impact was bone-jarring - almost bone-breaking. The dragon roared and
reared back, long body twisting in midair like a whip.

The
katana shattered into a thousand pieces, dusting apart into a cloud of
seemingly weightless shards that glittered in the sun like silver and
diamonds. An ephemeral web composed of light sparkled between the
fragments and the jewelled armor for one timeless moment. Distantly,
Saionji wondered at its beauty.

*You lose,* said the dragon. The
thrumming vibration of the words speared directly into Saionji's chest
and throat this time, transferred through the ice-fire fangs impaling
Saionji's middle.

Saionji unclenched his hands and let the
bladeless hilt clatter to the ground. The sky was very blue, the
distant castle no more than a wisp of clouds - nothing but reflections
and the mere notion of topless towers, rising above chimerical
battlements with eternal grace.

The dragon was watching him
with amusement burning in the magnesium glare of its gaze. "No,"
Saionji gasped, choking a little on the surge of liquid that welled up
in his mouth. "Touga -"

A small shape stirred, dwarfed between
the armored paws of the beast. The dragon turned slightly, one paw
moving to draw the diminutive body closer. Hair the color of arterial
blood spilled across the floor, vivid against snowy white marble.

"*Touga*!"
He needed to move, to help Touga, but the sabers spearing him held him
fast. He had to help his friend, but even when the dragon shook him
once and then released him, his limbs refused to obey. He slid off the
creature's teeth with a wet sound; his legs gave immediately and
spilled him to the floor. His arms refused to break his fall. Even his
head would not lift from the cold stone.

A sickening scent of
incense clung to everything... incense, blood, roses and decay. *Don't
worry,* the terrible voice crooned, right next to his ear. *I'll
protect him.*

It wouldn't. It *couldn't*, not a creature such as this, it
would -

No. *No.* He could not allow that to happen.

Saionji
was captain of the kendo club for a reason. It wasn't just that he
possessed a natural aptitude for swordplay. It wasn't just that he'd
honed his talent diligently, working to improve for hours every day
ever since he'd been old enough to hold a shinai. Talent and skill were
vital, but there was something still more essential - something that
could be neither learned nor compensated for. He wanted to move. He
wanted to stand up. He wanted to go to his friend and make sure he
would be all right. He wanted to eradicate the creature coiling where
only Touga should have been. It should have had no place here. It
should never have existed - it should not be allowed to exist, and he
was the only one who could see it, the only one who could make certain
it had no place in the world.

It didn't matter that the creature
was wreathed in fire and sheathed in diamond, that his katana had
shattered, that his body screamed with pain and his own blood coated
his tongue with salt and rust. It didn't matter that when he pushed
himself up to his hands and knees, his arms shook so hard that he
wouldn't have been able to hold a sword, even if the katana had not
broken. Nothing mattered except that he knew what had to be done, and
he would do it. If he failed - if he died now, there would be no-one
who would.

He gathered himself and pushed to his knees. The dragon
laughed at him. Foolish creature.

Saionji
smiled with teeth reddened by gore and reached for his sword. It slid
into his grasp easily, blood-warm and more truly a part of him than
even the katana had been.

"You lose," he rasped, and swung. This blade did not shatter
against the diamond scales, as he had known it wouldn't.

Saionji
brought the sword around again for the killing stroke, but stopped
short of his mark as he realized that he had made a mistake. He hadn't
been fighting a dragon at all, but a beautiful young man. What he had
taken to be scales had truly been the long hair, spread glittering
across pale skin. What he had mistaken for claws had been slender
fingers, elegant and strong. What he had taken for the sinuous coil of
a dragon's body was in reality a form of graceful perfection, limbs at
once supple and muscular.

The creature turned in his arm, blood lacing its moon-glow
skin. Its eyes were still dragon's eyes.

*You
have won,* the young man whispered. *Let me live and I will share my
kingdom with you. You and I, we will rule over everything, as far as
your eye can see. You will be at my side always, as I will be at yours,
and nothing will ever come between us. Nothing will be able to hurt
you. Nothing will hold you back. You will never be alone again.* It
smiled, glittering, sparkling. *We'll be good for each other, you and
I.*

Saionji hesitated; his raised sword-arm trembled with
something other than strain. *You would be mine?*

*Yours,*
it said, and there was triumph in its voice, triumph in the sinuous
twist of its body as it arched into his. It was hot and hard with
muscle and arousal, and when it rubbed against him, Saionji gasped.
*Only yours. And you'd be mine.*

*For how long?* he asked, yearning open in his voice.

It
kissed him, and its tongue in his mouth was smooth and skilled, not
forked as he had expected it to be. Its hand was no less skilled as it
slid between their bodies. *Forever.*

And the lie splintered and
washed away on the wave of dying petals, fragments glittering with
feverish brilliance in the sunlight. Saionji cried out at the loss. The
sound was echoed by the angry cry of the incubus as Saionji's sword
pierced its heart.

It was proud; it showed no pain as it died,
even though its skin was pearled with sweat, its mouth drawn tight with
the effort of silence. *You're beautiful,* it whispered just before it
spasmed in his arms, nearly tearing free of his hold before falling
back across his lap in a limp sprawl. The cobalt light in its eyes was
the last thing to die.

Its blood smelled of incense and decaying roses and burned
like fire on his skin.

The world ended.

Saionji screamed.

***

"Kyouichi," said his best friend, clearly impatient with him.
"What the hell are you doing?"

Saionji
started and gasped, the remains of a scream stuck in his throat. The
harsh sound of his own voice howling in wordless agony still rang in
his ears. His arms were empty.

When he turned blindly to grope
along the floor, there was smooth, polished wood beneath his fingertips
rather than stone. Nothing but parquet and a wall, and nothing but
parquet on his other side, either - except for a pair of jean-clad legs
attached to the rest of Touga, who was frowning down at him.

"What -" Saionji's voice was rusty and hoarse, and he stopped
to clear his throat. "Touga?"

Touga
was different - as known as Saionji's own reflection and yet entirely
unfamiliar. Saionji had never before seen him in jeans. Saionji had
never before seen him with his hair cropped short, brushed up and
forward with a few strands falling rakishly into his eyes.

He
looked good, in an unfamiliar way; a handsome stranger in jeans and a
black T-shirt that clung to his muscular form, emphasizing broad
shoulders and narrow waist. His ears stuck out a little, so damn
unfamiliar, and his neck was bare, naked, unprotected. He looked
exposed, as though an intangible shield had been removed to leave him
open and defenseless.

He was kneeling next to Saionji now, his
grip firm on his upper arms, his hands urging him to turn and sit up
against the wall. "Did something happen during training? Did you hit
your head?"

Saionji looked around at the small living room,
feeling dazed. His muscles were still thrumming from the exertion of
the fight; the cloying stench of blood and incense still clogged his
sinuses.

Touga had freed Saionji's hair from its ponytail and
was probing his skull with gentle fingers, their touch barely firm
enough to be felt. Saionji thought that he should probably object, but
in truth, he didn't mind. He didn't mind even when Touga straddled his
outstretched legs and got in his face, frowning in concentration,
apparently attempting to study the dilation of Saionji's pupils. No,
Saionji didn't mind at all, particularly since it made it easier to
haul his friend into a bone-crushing hug and bury his face in the spiky
hair. It looked different, but it smelled the same, and it was just as
soft as he remembered.

Alive. He was *alive*. Touga was alive, and safe - wasn't he?

As soon as Saionji relaxed his hold, Touga moved back to stare
at him, eyes wide and worried and entirely human.

"Do you remember the duel?" Saionji asked, and even before
Touga frowned at him, the answer was clear in his expression.

"Which one?"

He
wouldn't have needed to ask if he'd remembered. The last one, the only
one that truly mattered anymore - the one in which Touga had lost, and
lost again, and lost again to die in Saionji's arms, his blood
corrosive and velvet-soft and scented of roses. The one in which Touga
had told him he was beautiful, red froth bubbling on too-perfect lips.
The one in which Touga's lies had shattered like glass.

Words
fled his grasp and Saionji shook his head in frustration. He had never
been good with words; rather than fumble fruitlessly for the right
ones, he reached out and gripped two handfuls of body-warm cotton,
unceremoniously hauling Touga's T-shirt upwards. Touga looked startled,
but didn't protest as Saionji bared his friend's chest to expose a
thin, unmistakable scar squarely over his heart.

He traced a
finger over the faded line. It was an old scar, flush with the healthy
skin and whitened by age - thin enough to be missed at a casual glance.
All the same, it was the kind of mark that couldn't be mistaken for
anything but what it was... the result of a deep cut with a very sharp
blade.

"This duel," he said, caressing the damaged skin again.
Touga leaned into the touch briefly before pulling back to look down at
himself.

"How strange," he murmured. "I never realized how much that
looks like a scar from a sword thrust."

A
sudden thought made Saionji open his dogi to inspect his own torso.
Where the dragon's teeth had run him through, an old sword wound cut
across his middle. It bisected his torso from the left hip to just
beneath the ribs, the scar more faded than Touga's, but just as
unmistakable.

Touga made a stifled sound. If anyone else had
uttered it, Saionji would have called it a gasp, but he couldn't
imagine Touga gasping, certainly not because of a scar on an old -
friend's? lover's? adversary's? - body. "Kyouichi, what the hell
happened? That wasn't there this morning!"

Saionji couldn't sit
still anymore. He pushed Touga off his legs and got up, walking over to
the window. It was almost dark outside; he couldn't make out more than
vague leafy shapes set before a solid mass of darkness, probably either
a wall or a hedge. Above the wall, feathery black branches swayed
against the lighter night sky, moving to the gentle rhythm of a breeze.

Inexplicably, he felt that he should be able to remember the
garden in daylight. If he stopped resisting and opened his mind, he
would almost certainly be able to picture delicate greens and
earth-hues, Touga lounging on a deck chair clad only in a bathing suit
and sunglasses, Touga stalking him across the grass to trap him against
one of the old trees around the other side of the house, Touga staring
at him in mingled disbelief and affront at the suggestion he weed the
flower-beds.

He had a distant recollection of sunlight flashing
on steel, just a short time ago. He'd been fighting. His katana had
shattered against diamond-hard armor, but there had been another sword,
indestructible and intrinsically *his*, as though it belonged to him in
a way even the katana never had.

Impossible. He must have fallen asleep after training and had
a nightmare.

Except...
it had actually happened. And he had never seen Touga lounging in the
sunlight with dark glasses pushed up into his spiky hair.

Anger
rose in a blinding wave, scalding and surprisingly strong. Saionji
turned it to his purpose and slashed it through the cobwebs trying to
form in his mind. Trying to layer themselves over the sharpness of

*Touga
flamboyantly shouldering his katana, Saionji's own sword shattering and
clattering to the ground, the shards lost in heaps of rose petals,
silver claws rending, the agony of a part of him tearing loose,
beautiful flame-haired creature dying in his arms, their blood
mingling*

until all that was left were vaguely remembered outlines.

The
fragile veils tore and dissipated and Saionji whirled, nearly colliding
with Touga, who was standing directly behind him. It looked as though
he'd been waiting to catch Saionji if he fainted. "You remember the
Rose Bride, don't you?"

Touga raised an elegant brow. "Himemiya
Anthy? Of course I remember her. You made quite a fool of yourself over
the girl at Ohtori."

Saionji shook his head and tried again.
"Then you remember the Rose Seal duels? All of us fought for the hand
of the Rose Bride, passing her back and forth between us until a new
girl arrived. Tenjou Utena - you must remember her."

The faint frown on Touga's face smoothed out into a grin.
"Jealous, Kyouichi?"

Saionji shoved him back roughly when he tried to lean in.
"Touga, stop! Can't you *remember*?"

Touga shrugged. "Of course I remember. It was so long ago,
though - why are you obsessing on the past all of a sudden?"

"It's not the past!"

A quick shadow fell over Touga's expression. He drew back,
hesitating for a moment before leaning on the wall next to Saionji.

Neither
of them spoke for a long moment. Saionji was trying to make sense of
his strange surroundings and Touga's behavior; Touga, for his part,
looked to be dwelling on something he emphatically did not want to
think about, something that tightened his lips and brought tension to
his every feature, settling over him like a vulture of air and
darkness.

"I remember," Touga said at last. His voice was
resonant and perfectly modulated, and the too-familiar sound sent
chills down Saionji's back. "Of course I do. I remember that I would
have done anything, sacrificed anyone to further my goals. I was
certain of where I needed to go, what I had to be... And because I
could never quite manage to do the impossible and turn myself into
something I wasn't, I was forced to resort to increasingly drastic
methods, until finally I overreached myself. I remember falling prey to
someone even more devious and ruthless than I. I'd given you many
reasons not to care what happened to me -" He paused, searching
Saionji's face for something he evidently didn't find, to judge from
the further tightening of his features. "I'll never forget that you
were there for me in spite of everything, Kyouichi. Still, it *was*
long ago. Let it rest."

It was too firm to be a plea, and yet...
There was pain in Touga's eyes, buried deep down, but almost glaringly
visible to Saionji. It shook him; he had never seen this kind of quiet
but pervasive hurt in his friend, wouldn't have thought him capable of
it. Not anymore. Not for a very long time.

"If I didn't know
better, I'd think the stress was getting to you," Touga went on in a
lighter tone, his eyes narrowing speculatively. The strange ache of
regret was still there, layered deep but muted by other emotions. It
*had* been long ago, in Touga's heart. He'd been forgiven. He thought
he'd forgiven himself. "It can't be that, can it? You couldn't lose the
championship if you tried. I've already requested a transfer to the
University of Tokyo's faculty of law, you know. There's no doubt
they're going to want you at the Tokyo Noma Dojo. You're the best I've
seen."

The change of subject was far less elegant than it should
have been, considering that this was Touga, grand master at shaping
words into instruments that did exactly what he wanted them to. Saionji
was suspicious for a moment, trying to picture the larger plan behind
Touga's apparent fumble - the plan that was always there, in even the
most seemingly mundane action.

But then, this Touga was
different. Both more vulnerable and more resilient, more open... more
*real*. Saionji wasn't certain how he knew so much about someone he'd
only met several minutes ago, but he did; he could feel it at a level
deeper than thought, deeper than emotion. The presence of Touga in his
life was as natural and necessary as the weight of a sword in his hand,
and Saionji knew him in the same way.

With a deep breath, he relaxed into the moment, letting go of
his tension and confusion.

"Except for Utena," Saionji replied at last. "And except for
you."

Touga
laughed. "Don't be stupid. I haven't been as good as you for a long
time, Kyouichi - at least not with that kind of sword."

Innuendo
was thick in Touga's voice, and Saionji flushed slightly even as he
searched his friend's expression for the hidden sting of that
admission. As unbelievable as it seemed, though, it didn't look as
though the acknowledgment of Saionji's superior kendo skills had cost
Touga anything; there was no bitterness to be found in either his voice
or the lines of his face. Saionji was very sure he would have seen it
if it had been there; he was an expert on bitterness.

Or, perhaps... he had been. Long ago.

Touga's
grin and the teasing quirk of one copper eyebrow were entirely
unfamiliar, but Saionji felt he could get used to them very quickly.

"Who
is this woman you keep talking about, anyway?" Touga went on, stepping
closer still. When he exhaled, his breath brushed Saionji's cheek
warmly. "Perhaps I should be the jealous one."

Saionji swallowed as lips followed the exhalation, nibbling
teasingly along the line of his cheekbone. "It doesn't matter now."
"Good," Touga murmured. There was no space between them anymore, and
neither the hard body pressed against Saionji's nor the skillfully
roaming hands felt at all unfamiliar. "That's what I hoped you'd say."